


Trophy

by Yarking



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age - Various Authors, Original Work
Genre: Child Abuse, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dead animals, Gen, Hate Crime, Minor Character Death, Racism, Slavery, Suicide mention, Tevinter, Torture, internalized racism/self loathing, tags added as needed, this is how you fuck kids up ya'll
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-26
Updated: 2017-03-18
Packaged: 2018-09-19 23:27:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 44,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9465344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yarking/pseuds/Yarking
Summary: Two troubled children meet at the Minrathous Circle. One is a magister’s heir, groomed to be the blood mage general of Seheron, without fear or mercy. Hopefully, that will keep people from noticing how very much an elf he is. The other is last born, least loved and most of his emotions involve academics and cadavers. They love each other, even if they’re not terribly good at it.





	1. Sword

**Author's Note:**

> This fic will contain a wide array of abuse between family, friends and lovers. It will address the affect of that abuse on a child's development, as well as unmanaged mental illness (CPTSD, depression, anxiety, and some magical varients), disability, racism, classism and living in the frankly sick society that is Tevinter. If I do my job right, it will be handled honestly and responsibly. Tags will be added to keep up with the story as needed.

The first time Cato Fen’Rhea was allowed into his family’s trophy room he was five years old. Before, the door had remained closed, and his curiosity had not passed beyond asking his nanny what was in it and why it was locked.

“Sharp things are in there, child. You would get hurt,” she had explained, and rested a hand on his toddler-blond hair before she returned to folding clothes.

Cato had looked at the carved wolf on the door’s wooden face. It seemed suddenly unwelcoming, looming as it stared impassively over Cato’s head. He was a good child. Obedient. And he didn’t want to get hurt.

He was playing with Aunny in the sunny courtyard over a year later- long since forgetting about the room save the occasional uneasy when he passed the locked door- when his mother stood in the archway to the garden, watching them carefully.

“Cato, boy,” she called. Her voice was low and serious, but that was just how she was. The words were gentled. She beckoned him with finger and Cato dropped the stick he was pretending was a sword, only for his brother to rap him on the shoulder when he was distracted.

Cato turned back to Aunny and bristled at his smug smile and was about to shout at the cheater when his mother spoke again.

“Now, lad.”

Her words were no longer gentle. Lower and cross, and Cato went to her sullenly. He looked back at his brother to scowl.

“Don’t blame him for you lowering your guard,” his mother chided, cuffing him on his back to make him scurry faster. Cato wilted, shoulders dropping and crumpled ears drooping at the admonishment. He loped to keep up with her longer legs, determined to at least not lag behind.

She didn’t speak as they walked, passing through the indoor arena and sitting area where he and his brother would read and finally down the wing with the library. Cato craned his head to look in as they passed it, hopeful that it was their destination.

Cato only just saw the carved wolf staring emotionlessly over his head before his mother unlocked the door and ushered him inside. It was a brighter room than Cato expected, though he wasn’t sure what he had thought it would look like. Dank and cavelike, with cobwebs and dripping water, absurdly. With the mansion’s layout he knew the room would share the tall, bright windows that the adjacent rooms had, illuminating the curiosities enshrined within.

On the far wall, above even the tall windows were a pair of mounted horns that looked like horns from a dragon, or perhaps the tusks of Par Vollen elephant beasts. A pair of long, sturdy ivory sweeping grandly down. Charging. Cato leaned towards his mother’s leg, shying at the unnerving sight, and busied himself with the other displays to distract him from his own unease.

Armour set on stands to display what they would look like when worn collected in one corner of the room, each behind a label at their feet of names Cato recognized from his genealogy lessons. Banners plastered the the wall behind them and some space to the side, before the room was taken up by a massive, weathered map of someplace he didn’t recognize. Past that, framed papers and medals and a carved shoot of what looked like bamboo.

“Come,” his mother said. She walked forward and into the maze of the most prominent display at the heart of the room. A collection of swords, all in individual glass cases and labeled with small pewter plaque, hung suspended. The glass rack inside each display was clear and nearly invisible, giving the impression that each sword was floating, or encased in solid resin.

Cato followed close behind, staring up at the long, black blades. The ‘tack’ of his mother’s leather heel on the floor echoed like metal clashing. She stopped- and so did he- before a single sword, undistinguished from the others. Cato could see twin reflections of himself. One in the glass of the display, clearer but fainter than the other, the dim reflection of his face on the black metal, warped by the swirling grain of the edge.

“Euphia Fen’Rhea” was embossed in the plaque below. His mother’s name.

“You’ll be leaving for the Circle soon,” she said, hardly above a whisper. “Do you know why?”

Cato frowned, loose ears turning back in suspicion. This seemed like a trick question. “To learn magic?”

He looked up at her, and saw how her eyes trained hard and unerring on the sword’s crossguard. She let out a soft huff, a laugh. “That is one step. Do you know what these swords are?”

Cato sized the sword up, looked at the next closest one and the one beyond that. They all looked nearly identical, with only small, superficial differences in things like the color of the grip and shape of the pommel. They gave no hints. “Swords?”

She looked down at him. Mad, or sad. Or tired. “These swords are called Swords of Mercy. They’re given to Imperial citizens who have protected the empire in a meaningful way. This one is mine. Colonel-Enchanter at the battle for Ath Moran. I returned my city to the Imperium, and the Archon was good to me for it.”

She turned to Cato and kneeled beside him so they looked nearly eye-to-eye. “Cato, we’re elves. Every elf in the Imperium has to pay a price to live here. For most, it’s their freedom. Some can get by with just losing their dignity. Fen’Rhea pay with blood. It’s up to you how much of that blood is yours, and how much of it is the people who are going to try and hurt you.”

Cato shied. She was scaring him. He wanted to go, and he nodded hard enough to make his ears flap in hopes that he would be excused. Cato knew she wouldn’t like that, that it wouldn’t be accepted, and was prepared for when she gripped his arms too hard, squaring him forcefully before her.

“People are going to try to hurt you when you go to the circle.”

He continued nodding, looking away and past her to a reflection that showed them both.

“You’re going there to learn magic, and you’re also going to learn how to survive. Everything they do to you is going to be a lesson. You have to keep an open mind and learn everything you can there, because you’re going to need it. You’re going to be a soldier, too. You’re going to get a sword like this.”

He nodded, and the wall of tears finally spilled over with the motion.

“Shh, settle. Settle. You’re going to be worthy. I’m going to make you worthy. Do you want that? You want to keep living here in our home, you want to earn that for you and your brother, don’t you? Because if you don’t, we’re all going to have to leave. The Imperium doesn’t want us if we don’t fight for it. We’d have to go south so they don’t make us slaves. We’ll have to pretend to not have magic. If they find out we do, they’ll take you away and you’ll never see me or your brother again.”

“They’re going to take me?” Cato asked, sniveling and tear streaked.

“No, no child. No. You don’t have to go if you do what I say. I’ll teach you what you have to do. I can teach you. You want that, don’t you? You want to learn what you have to do to stay?”

Cato nodded again yes, swallowed little sobs shaking his body.

“That’s a good lad. You’re going to help so many people. You’re going to protect your country, and I’ll be so proud of you. I’ll make you perfect. All you have to do is listen,” his mother said, hand stoked back his hair.

Cato wept, small fingers curling in his mother’s sleeves. Grasping at her desperately, as if the threat of being taken was present in that very room. He wept gasping promises, swearing, “I’ll listen! I want to listen!”

Her face turned serious. “To start, you have to stop crying. If people see you crying, they’re going to think you’re more fun to hurt.”


	2. Mama

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, _that_ Danarius.

Tertius separated a lock of his mama’s long, black hair into three bunches. The pink tip of his tongue poked out between his lips, pursed in concentration. Carefully- labouring against the natural clumsiness of a five-year-old’s hands- he lifted one bunch and crossed it over the adjacent one.

“Like this?” he asked, doing the same to the other side. He looked up her with wide, pale eyes.

She smiled, warm against her wan, thinning face. Careful not to move her head too much. It had been days since she carded her fingers through the long, inky hair Tertius had inherited from her, kissing the top of his head as she braided and rebraided the long, black tail. Mama had been tired. Tertius’ hair was now mussed and tangled past the root of the black ribbon that kept it back. It hadn’t been brushed since she had last done it. “Just like that, precious.”

His face went alight, like an owlet proud of his first gliding down to the forest floor. Tertius returned to the braid, working with his usual single-minded focus. He hummed a song she would sing him, melody wandering in a way his attention did not.

“I think that’s enough,” she murmured gently as he ended his first plait. “It’s time for a nap.”

“I’m not tired,” Tertius said. It’s true, he wasn’t, and what he was tired of was naps. He hadn’t needed one in a year. They were boring.

“I know. But I am. You can stay and play, or read, if you want,” she said, sliding back deeper under the sheets. The braid stretched out on the pillow between them. “You have your book with the horses on the table there.”

Tertius scrunched his nose as his mama pulled up the covers and looked at him knowingly. He looked at his book resting open at the bedside table, a woodblock print of a patchy horse illustrating one side. Looked back at her, and scooted forward, nestling into the bed beside her.

Naps were boring, but he was patient. The look of favor on her face as she looked down at him was worth the tedium. He shut his eyes, content, and felt the burst of warmth in his chest as she pulled her frail arm around him.

He fell asleep to the smell of perfume, sweat and laudanum, and the rhythm of her breathing.

The bright sunset sliding across the bed and into his eyes woke him, and he mumbled groggily in the glare. His head hurt, and the pang of hunger in his belly told him they had slept too long. His hands went to his face, rubbing his eyes and keening against the pain in his head from oversleeping.

Blinking, he noticed his mama’s face, usually pale, now dazzlingly white against the black of her hair and deep plum of the sheets. Still. He nudged her.

“Mama?”

Nothing. He looked up into her face, brow knitting. Touched her cheek. Her skin was soft. A little cold. It was early fall. The tip of his nose was cold too. They could use another blanket.

He wiggled out from under her arm, careful not to wake her, and slid to the edge of the bed. His skinny legs swung over and he hopped up, whispering over his shoulder in case she was awake and just too comfortable, “I’m getting the fuzzy yellow one.”

That one was his favorite.

He opened the door carefully, crank inside the knob sounding loud as things did when trying not to wake someone, and shut it behind him. The thump of the door on its frame made Tertius startle, but he didn’t hear stirring from inside, and so plodded down the hall and to his room.

The blanket was there over his pillow where he had left it, folded by one of the slaves that would tidy behind him, and he fumbled to drag it onto the floor as it unfurled. It trailed behind him, bundled in his arms as he returned to the hallway, but his stomach rumbled fiercely.

It was late in the day. He should have had dinner by now. Tertius dithered, pouting as he thought. It wasn’t really that cold. He decided to take something from the kitchen before going back. The detour wasn’t far, but when he peeked in to look for scraps one of the cooks swooped in to chastise him.

“Where were you earlier?” he asked, turning from a pile of flour-speckled dough to gripe at Tertius. The flour puffed at the slave’s hips where he planted his hands testily, dusting into the air like pretty clouds. “You know I work all day to make a nice dinner and you- aw, now don’t even try it!”

The cook’s words were falsely cross, hiding his amusement, presumably at how Tertius had pulled his blanket over his head and hid beneath it like a dandelion-colored ghost to avoid the lecture. He groused all through scavenging Tertius’ impromptu dinner. Tertius pulled the blanket back over his shoulders and accepted the plate the slave prepared, leaning into the hand that rested on his head just a moment before ruffling his hair and shooing him from the room.

The bread he had been given was baked that morning, its crust toughened since then and harder to chew through. Tertius tore and growled, playing like the hunting dogs Papa’s friend in the senate had, or the elves in the basement he wasn’t supposed to talk to. It was a fun game, but the tugging made one of his teeth wiggle and it felt strange. He wasn’t supposed to poke at it. He poked at it.

He was balancing the plate with the extra chunk of bread he saved for Mama in one hand and fidgeting with his loose tooth with the other when he reached the hall to his mother’s room once more.

The door was ajar unlike how he left it, and voices of slaves and what he could recognize as Papa came from inside. Tertius drew up more slowly, not liking the stiff words even before he could make out what they were saying.

His hand rested on the cold knob and he peeked through the narrow gap between the door and its frame. He could see Papa inside, palm covering his mouth and a drawn, concentrated look on the visible half of his face. Papa was silent and still, the only indication that he wasn’t a statue being the tension around his dry, colorless eyes as he inspected where Mama was sleeping.

“I want an autopsy before the cremation. The usual poisons, and any rot that might have come from the list of spells I will supply you,” he said at last, hand dropping to reveal the twisted, thin-lipped frown that finished his expression as icy fury.

“Yes, master.”

Tertius nudges the door open further and further until the creak of hinges snapped the attention of everyone in the room except his mother.

His papa’s words were spiny and clipped. “Get out, Tertius.”

“She needs a blanket,” Tertius reasoned, shrugging his blanket up over his shoulders like a demonstration.

“Get out.”

“You’re mother… she’s gone, young master,” one of the slaves, a matronly lady with a kind face and round ears. She reaches out to Tertius, ready to place a withered hand on his head. “I’m so sorry.”

Tertius stepped back. He didn’t want to be touched by a liar. “She’s right there,” he said, and moved to climb back into bed. “She’s just cold.”

Nearby, Papa exhaled sharply and the anger rolling off him made Tertius slow, cowering instinctively. “Tertius, get out now,” he commanded. Then, hissing at his entourage, “Someone get him out of here.”

Younger slaves leave him on either side, reaching forward and taking Tertius by his arms, pulling him back off the bed. Mama remained still and silent in her slumber, and the strangeness of how deep she was sleeping to ignore the elves manhandling him left a streak of uncertainty in Tertius, and he kicked out and flopped as dead weight. One of the elves yelped as he bucked her in the face and the other eased back, giving Tertius the chance to scramble back.

“She’s right here, liar!” he accused, wrapped in his blanket and puffing from his tantrum, before the slaves returned in earnest, dragging him back again. They held him by his ankle this time, and there was little leverage for him to kick them away again. He resorted to thrashing and screaming, reaching out to grab a handful of his mother’s nightgown. “Wake up! Wake up!”

Something was wrong. She remained still, and Tertius shrieked and tried to bite one of the young slaves that had tried prying open his hand. She needed to wake up now. He wanted her awake. He needed her. He screamed.

Under his yelling, he still managed to hear Papa’s sharp breath, and saw out of the corner of his eye Papa’s long, black claws disappear under his own skin. When the black claws reappeared, spread wide like a swatting cat, they were filmed to the quick with blood. It stained his fingertips a bright orange-red and then suddenly vanished, too close to Tertius’ neck for him to see.

The hand was only at his throat for a moment, but he felt the blood magic injected into him like a single drop of paint into a glass of water, foreign and bright.

The magic spread.

It sealed his throat and fogged into his head, first prickling his skin into goosebumps and then the sensation of the skin being too tight- of his face being asleep. A cold that burned- the numbness was replaced by pain, overwhelming and inescapable. It ate at his mind, until his vision dimmed inward, blinded and shrieked.

Was he on the ground? He had to be. His hands stretched out, finding smooth and jagged- what? His mind couldn’t place the feeling, and soon after the capacity to reach out and feel left him altogether.

Tertius struggled to breathe, his mouth locked hard and throat tight in pain. There he remained for an unknowable length of time, moment after moment after moment, until he awoke rocking and faint on the floor of his room.

He heaved himself up onto his hands, needles prickling where his palms met the carpet, and watched the pillars of his arms as he swayed on their tenuous support, wondering at how the rhythmic rocking stilled his mind and gave him a measure of peace. Distantly. A large part of him not thinking at all.

His mother.

Tertius’ throat clapped tight, his breathing a frail, struggling thing, whistling through his snot and fear. They had lied- they would take her! Where and why he didn’t understand, but- but they would take her.

He plopped forward, trying and failing to coordinate a crawl on his hands and knees, and ended up shimmying and wriggling the distance to the door. One foot. Another. His small fingers planted on the door jam, scratching up and-

And it was locked. He tried again. He curled his hand around the bar and let his weight drop into turning the handle down- and out- but it remained still. A final, desperate jiggle. Nothing.

Tertius tried to open his mouth. He tried to pry open his jaws and scream for help, demand and explanation. Tried to unstick his tongue from the top of his mouth, breath deep and scream for his mother. He failed. He tried again. He failed. Tertius managed a thin, shrill noise that splintered at his throat, but the sound was hardly loud enough to reach his own ears in the deafening silence, and could hardly breach the door before him.

He clawed at the edge of the door, where it met the jam, and rocked.

\--

A slave found him the next morning when they came to change his sheets.

He had fallen asleep at the door, and fell onto her feet when she swung it open, waking to her startled scream. He screamed back in his own, whispered way, tongue pressed still against the roof of his mouth, jaw viciously tight, and when she noticed straightaway his strange shaking and the strangled, squeaking sounds he made between breaths she brought him swiftly to the house’s physician.

The physician was a white-haired man, who peered at him like he was small. Which he was, but it felt more apparent with the looming. Tertius worked to eke out a plea, exhausted and scared at his voicelessness.

“His father,” the man directed after the most cursory examinations. He turned to sit on his quarters’ bed, the sparse furnishings giving Tertius the option of standing or the floor. He pitched slowly on his feet, the encroaching blankness preferable to the seemingly distant memory of the glinting orange-red of blood. The memory of the spell felt old and weathered, despite happening precious few waking hours ago. Everything felt old and weathered. The very room he swayed in felt grey and unreal and remote.

Perhaps it had been a nightmare? But then, what could account for his speechlessness?

He rocked, and focused on the blankness and the hope his mother’s stillness had been a bad dream.

People were speaking.

“It should have worn off by now.”

“Well, evidently, it did not.”

Tertius turned his head and tried to focus. There was Papa. Had it been a dream? Hadn’t it? His hand lifted as he considered his chances, extended and reached for Papa. How far away was he? He had to focus. His hand closed around air.

A hand encircled Tertius’ throat, and Tertius breathed in one long, shaky gasp.

Papa’s hand dropped away as Tertius let out a pained moan. His head pulsed with his heart, and the stream of light brought tears to his aching eyes. After so long with only sips of air, Tertius’ chest didn’t seem to know what to do with the surplus now as it spasmed and fluttered and rejected the great, jagged gasps.

But the room was real again.

“P-,” he tried. 

His tongue stuck.

“P-... Puah-... Puh…”

His papa paused where he had drifted to leave the seemingly-resolved problem. Half turned. Looked at him with narrow, raptor eyes.

“Say that again, Tertius.”

Tertius felt small. He felt so small, scrunching his face up and forcing out around his resisting mouth a eventual, hard won, “Puh.”

His papa turned the rest of the way to face him, coursing down. “I removed the spell. You can speak freely now. Don’t be petulant.”

Tertius tried again, but when his mouth refused and he could endure the uncertainty no longer, his small hands curled into fists and pressed against the side of his head. “Mmma. Mmma.”

“You want to see your mother?” Papa asked, voice going strange and sweet.

Tertius nodded as hard as he could, teetering a little as he spoiled his own shaky balance with the motion. Papa extended a taloned hand and took Tertius’ own in it, holding it with a surprising lightness as he brought Tertius with him.

This bad dream was over. With the incoming promise of his mama, Tertius suddenly felt all of the exhaustion in his tiny body, each step plodded and ending with his knee buckling, stumbling forward. He wouldn’t say no to a nap with her today.

Papa brought him past the kitchen hall, past his room, past his mother’s room and to the main atrium. To the mantle above a low, popping fire. To an urn.


	3. Jibe and Jab

The sky was as bright as the water was dark. Cato placed his hands on the banisters lining the deck’s edge, peering over to the near black of the sea’s waves. His reflection was a rippling shadowy smudge against the long rippling, shadowy smudge of the boat’s side. He could have been anyone- even his silhouette was obscured by the hood that tucked away his misshapen ears.

Exciting.

The ship was the most fun he’d had since he could remember. Loaded with passengers of children from the far side of the sea preparing to attend the Circle for the first time, the chaperones herding the new students were occupied by tantrums and homesickness the moment the land was out of sight. Cato’s bad behavior extended only so far as wanting to run too close to the edge of the boat, lean too far out and trying follow the salt-weathered slaves that climbed up the mast and handled the upper rigging. After only a few yanks on the back of his robe from the student’s guardians to keep him from finding trouble, he was left to his own devices in favor of the seasick, screaming and crying for their mums.

That suited Cato just fine. He had a small model of this very kind of ship back home, and the idea of wandering around on the full sized version was fascinating. He noticed the differences between his toy and the reality, and when he had fully explored the deck he ventured below, where his toy was solid wood.

There were fewer children under the deck. The chaperones warned that seasickness was worse when you couldn’t see the horizon, so the ill remained above with them. Below, only a few of the least difficult children dotted the bowels, many of them reading or huddled with their friends and toys.

Cato didn’t know any other the others on board. There were precious few other elves of his family’s standing, none his age, and his mother was mistrustful of the human children in the area. She told Cato that she doubted their fairness, that he would not play with those that thought him ‘lesser’. Lesser than what he didn’t know, but the anger in her voice was infectious, and he already disliked the round-eared children around him.

Fortunately, his brother was only a year younger than him and good fun (for a brother), so he was hardly ever lonely, but Aun wouldn’t be old enough to attend the Circle until he turned five like Cato. And so he must entertain himself.

Cato peeked into one of the storage rooms, seeing a group of three playing cards on the ground. They hadn’t noticed him, and he looked past them to the pile of freight and luggage that lined the wall, piled high and jagged like a mountain. He thought of his mother’s words, of listening and learning, and of the games he would play with Aun, pretending at the war stories their mother had told them at bed.

He would be a hissrad, Cato decided, crouching low and slipping silently into the storage room. He ducked wordlessly behind the cargo, crawling and weaving between barrels and over chests. Cato delighted in how devious it felt to be an enemy spy, gradually encroaching on enemy territory to figure out their no-doubt ingenious battle plans. His cover was almost blown when he accidentally pulled down a sack of some kind of lumpy foodstuff (probably some weird southern delicacy), but after one of the kids- the soldiers- yelped in surprise, another assured them that it was only the cargo shifting from the waves.

The fools! That’s why you always send a scout. Cato silently preened to himself at his clearly superior military strategy as he wriggled out from under the sack of possibly-potatoes. He heaved himself up on one of the barrels hidden in the back and crawled along a canvas tarp that covered some of the larger crates. Further down was a mesh of netting that held in place another pile of burlap sacks stuffed with what smelled like animal feed. 

By the time he climbed the cargo mountain, he was a dozen feet off the ground- high enough that dropping from his cover would at best hurt. Craning his head over the top of his hiding place gave him a perfect bird’s eye views of the children below. And made him dizzy from the height. He could see the three playing cards, as well as a few more in the opposite corner he hadn’t seen when he came in. Two reading and one tucked up and writing something in the corner. They hadn’t spotted him yet, but they could see him easily from his vantage point.

Carefully, Cato climbed down and returned with part of the empty canvas sack over his hood, blending in perfectly now. He watched the card game silently, able to see two of the players hands from his position, even if he didn’t know the rules of the game. He could figure it out by watching, he was sure.

Gradually, Cato settled into his hiding spot and grew comfortable. Under the deck was warmer than the crisp sea air above, and the wooden creak of the walls was rhythmic and lulling. And for once, he was beyond his mother’s critical eye. He was beyond anyone’s judgement, secret and safe. Cato melted into the awkward collection of cargo beneath him, eyes blinking slowly as a surprising exhaustion settled over him. His hissrad duties could be taken care of a little later... 

As sleep was just taking him, he was startled back to attention by one of the children keening, then breaking out in a shrieky cry that made Cato’s neck prickle with goosebumps and stomach flop. He tensed, heart thundering, and ducked back further into the cargo. No one knew he was there, he was fine, he was safe. He had done nothing wrong.

“Don’t be a sore loser,” one of the other children said, unsympathetic.

“Nooo, don’t cry!” The other tried to placate their friend, leaning over to hug the crying player and getting swatted away for her efforts.

“I’m not- about the game!” the crying one said between shakey gulps of air. He sagged. “I miss my mama.”

He had been howling because he missed his mother? A sudden burst of anger whipped up inside Cato, making his belly feel upset. He’d been made to feel- he’d been made to _think_ something was happening because some _baby_ had wanted to clutch his mama’s skirt? Cato threw off his canvas disguise and popped his head over the cargo.

“Would you quit whining already?” he snapped. He was quietly pleased at how they shouted at being startled, but ignored it and continued. “If you’re going to be a whiny brat about it you should go up to the deck with all the other whiny brats.”

The child recoiled, stunned, and then cried harder, much to Cato’s annoyance. “I’m not a whiny brat!”

“You are! You’re a whiny brat and should go play with the other whiny brats.” Anger boiled under Cato’s skin, making him wrinkle his nose down at them in disgust. “This isn’t long at all to be away from your _mama_.”

It was true. He’d hardly escaped his mother’s scrutiny long enough to drift to sleep, and this little human was already missing his? That’s pretty sorry. He must be so spoiled, could get away with anything, it was the only explanation for him to want to go running back so quick instead of enjoying this freedom. No wonder he was going to go to Seheron and kill oxmen- human mages must grow up to be cowards.

“I’ll have you whipped for that!” the girl yelled up to him, scowling from where she comforted her friend.

Cato reared, laughing. “No you won’t- you can’t do that.”

“Can too!” she insisted. “Your master’s gonna whip you when I tell him what you said.”

Cato paused, perplexed. “Huh?”

“I can see your stupid elfy face, you can’t hide it with that hood! You’re going to be in so much trouble!”

Realization dawned on Cato, and his nostrils flared. The anger came back fuller and more potent than ever, so bright that he could feel his magic begin to crackle in the air. “I am _not_ a slave.”

How dare she. How _dare_ she!

“I am-” he continued, pulling back and pushing with his legs on of the topmost sacks. Then fell off, landing with a frightening loud thump too near to the card players, and the one that had just been observing yelped and scooted back. “Cato-” he pushed another sack, this one landing on the other and sliding off to scatter their cards under it. “Fen’Rhea!”

“Fen’Rhea?” the girl repeated slowly, not quite placing the name. “That sounds familiar.”

One of the kids reading in the corner piped up in a shrill voice. “Magister Fen’Rhea. The… _you know._ ”

There was a silence all around. Clearly they did not.

“The _blood mage_ elves?”

The girl scoffed, but looked up at Cato as if suddenly unsure. “Liar. Blood magic is wrong _and_ illegal.”

“Nuh uh! Not if you get special approval to do it to fight for the Imperium!” Cato crowed, pleased that his family’s reputation preceded him. “My tamas was one of the soldiers that got special permission from the Archon _himself_ and she killed hundreds and hundreds and hundreds of smelly oxmen so they couldn’t sneak into the Imperium and kidnap you and make you read the stupid Qun book and do what the Qun says.”

“What’s the Qun?” 

“What’s a Tamas?”

“I don’t believe you! An elf can’t kill Qunari, they’re too big and elves are too small and scared. The Qunari would just tell them to stop attacking and the elves would.”

“The Qun is … it’s like the oxmen’s Chant of Light, but they got it wrong because they hate the Maker. Tamas is the Seheron word for mother, and that’s not true! My tamas killed hundreds of them and they begged her to stop but she didn’t she _killed_ them. And I’m going to, too! Elves don’t just do what they’re told.”

“Yeah they do!”

Cato’s rage peaked. He fumbled back again and kicked another heavy sack down on the group below. “Tell me to stop then! Tell me to stop and see if I stop!”

Another two bags dropped to the ground, and the kids must have realized he was burying their cards when they demanded, “Quit it!”

“No!” Cato barked, triumphant. He kicked another sack down.

“Quit it now!” the crying baby yelled up at him, while the other two tried to dart in between falling sacks to salvage the cards they could.

“Say ‘elves are great warriors and kill lots of oxmen’.”

“I’m not going to-” another thump of a sack interrupted her. “Okay! Okay, elves are good warriors!”

“And?” Cato asked, pausing his assault.

“And they kill a lot of oxmen,” she finished bitterly, helping her friend drag sacks off their cards.

Cato returned to lounging atop his mountain of cargo. “That’s right!”

“Come on,” the quiet card player grumbled, tugging and the sleeves of his friends. The readers followed her out as well, glancing back with sour faces at how noisy it had been. “Let’s go tell Matron Flavia.”

A small jolt of fear wormed its ways into Cato’s chest as he watched them leave, calling after them with a, “You go ahead and tell the Matron. See what she’ll do since you won’t fight your own battles.”

Matron Flavia wouldn’t whip him. Couldn’t whip him.

But she could tell Tamas. And he wondered at what Tamas might do to him, even if he was defending their house’s name. Twin stains of embarrassment bloomed over his cheeks at the memory of being pegged for a _slave_ of all things. She’d say he shouldn’t have let them think that of him in the first place.

Cato buried himself atop the cargo pile, frowning. Had he done something slavish that’d make them think he was…

Lesser?

Cato understood then. The line of his mouth twisted as the upset grew, and he swallowed it down like the greens he hated eating. He should hide before the Matron came back. He climbed lower, weaving between barrels and settled under a bit of hanging tarp that had just enough room for him and rested his face petulant in his folded arms. He tried to will himself into an eventually fitful sleep.

\--

With the ruckus finally ended, Tertius breathed a quiet sigh of relief. He watched the card players and readers go and the elf- that ‘Cato’- disappear into the pile of cargo again. He could just make out the elf settling under one of the tarps from the movement, but finally. Finally, some peace.

Tertius continued the drawing of a horse he was working on, hand messy on the stick of charcoal. Dust built up on the page and in his lap as he scribbled a mane onto the horse, having the bright and novel idea of changing directions to scribble for the tuft of mane over the horse’s face.

He nodded approvingly. That looked good.

He had been drawing a lot, so it should look good.

He set about to draw another, maybe rearing up this time, when he heard voices at the storage room’s door.

“And he was in here, you said?”

That was Matron Flavia, Tertius realized, and sure enough she appeared at the door soon after, flanked by the loud kids from before. Tertius’ grip on his charcoal tightened. Of course the quiet was spoiled.

Matron Flavia looked around and settled her gaze on him. “You. Boy.”

Tertius started, not used to being noticed, let alone called upon.

“Have you seen a nasty little elf around here?” she asked.

Tertius bowed his head, looking over to the cargo under the fringe of hair in his eyes, and considered.

He had come down here to the quietest part of the ship he could find, away from all the other children braying for their mothers. His mother was in a _vase_. Tertius remembered the elf’s words:

_This isn’t long at all to be away from your mama._

It was true. Tertius had been panging for months from the loss of his mother. This awful, hurting, _terrible_ feeling sticky and dark over his heart. And they had only been away for hours. They would see their mothers again. The had _no right_ to scream and cry as they did, and if his words were there and working properly he would have told each and every one of them off as the elf had.

Tertius shook his head and pointed past the door. “J-...Jus-t mmmissed him,” he stuttered. “Sssorry.”

The Matron made a disgruntled noise and turned, presumably to continue the hunt.

The last sound before a comfortable many hours of silence was a small, scratchy voice from inside the mountain of cargo, warbled out after the Matron’s heavy footfalls retreated.

“Thanks.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That is the least obtrusive exposition and world building you're gonna get from me so don't get used to it.


	4. Calpernius

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New warnings for this chapter: heavily implied internalized racism and self loathing. Please take care.

There was two weeks between the youngest student’s arrival and the first of their classes. Enough time for them to familiarize themselves with the immediately important locations- classes, lavatories, the refectory, boarding rooms and the halls and stairwells that connected them, the list arranged in Cato’s mind by their importance. 

There were few enough entering students and many enough dorm masters and mistresses that none of them were ever without supervision for long. Until the children settled in and could be proven not to do something stupid like get lost or fall down the stairs, they seemed loathed to let them out of their sight. Kids were corralled together in small packs, lead to and fro back and forth again and again and again, drilling into their memory the patterns of the school until even their little five-year-old minds could be entrusted to get from one place to another.

Cato had asked one of the supervising prefects how long he could expect the dorm leaders to be watching over them all so constantly. The bedraggled prefect had torn his exhausted eyes away from a large, small-texted tome long enough to gruff out, “When classes start you’ll mostly be on your own. Good luck.”

Cato bristled at the prefect mistaking his frustration with concern. It had taken him only a few days to memorize the places he was being constantly herded around. He chafed under the constant watch and remembered the comfort of anonymity and secrecy he felt on the boat, tucked away and free. In contrast, the entering students dormitories had a dozen beds per room, and the closest he could get to privacy was closing the curtain partitions that separated the beds into groups of four. Even then, it was never long before a dorm leader would spot his dim shadow against the curtain and peek in, ushering him with the next gaggle of children to be reminded where the nearest lavatory was the twelfth time that day.

Nevertheless, Cato found himself often sprawled flat on his belly on one of the beds, trying his best to avoid the tedious trips with the round-eared children that looked at him and his wide eyes and ear cuffs and flat, elvhen bridge of his nose as if he was making one long mistake by being in the Circle at all. There were no other elf students his age, and the older students wouldn’t be arriving until just a day before classes began again. There were no elvhen staff that he had seen yet.

In fact, the only elves he had seen since the boat had docked were the sallow, haggard slaves that cleaned the school and assisted the cooks in preparing breakfast. Whenever the group of children Cato was in passed one of these wasting creatures, Cato felt an uneasy tightness in him, and the compulsion to stare. Sometimes they would look back in the way slaves do, eyes meeting somewhere around Cato’s knees. Sometimes they would slow as they caught the copper cuffs at his ears that he wore to help make his ears prick, their conical shape accentuating the elvhen point.

To think, someone had mistaken him for one of those. He remembered the girl on the boat every time and squirmed. He knew slaves were common. He knew that every family on the same prestigious level of his own had slaves as a matter of necessity, if not to work the fields and mines and other assets of the family’s fortunes then to run errands, cook and any menial task that their masters couldn’t afford to spend time doing. And his family was no different, but the slaves his mother owned were split evenly. Male and female, human and elf. 

After a week of seeing only gaunt, haunting elves creeping wordlessly and demure through the halls of the Minrathous Circle, it gradually dawned on Cato that his mother’s parity in buying slaves was artificial. Her words came back with a chilling shiver as he looked into the dull, oily eyes of one of the Servus Publicus.

_Every elf in the Imperium has to pay a price to live here. For most, it’s their freedom._

Cato wished his brother had been his twin. He felt nothing but relief being away from Tamas, but by the end of the first week, he felt Aunny’s absence keenly. More than ever he was surrounded by people his age, all clamoring to sort themselves into little alliances, like practice for their inevitable political or academic futures. But even amongst the crowd Cato felt his peers’ uncertainty at him, and he mirrored the sentiment.

His mother had warned him, after all. They would try to hurt him.

He needed to find elves.

So it was with barely-contained hope that Cato watched the older students as they trickled back into the dormitories for the semester. His face was always turned towards the light of a window, peering out to watch the arrivals walking through the courtyard. It was a bit pointless, since the students below were too far away to tell if they had pointed ears or not, but he watched regardless.

The afternoon before the first class, Cato took the opportunity presented to him when a group of older students cluttered the hall by the classroom Cato was being shown for the countless time that week. He slipped wordlessly behind their long robes, darting between students as he slowly traced the path back to where he remembered the administrations offices being pointed out to him on the tour their first day. 

Inside the office Cato was immediately greeted by a desk and, somewhere invisible behind the sheafs of papers and books that piled atop the desk, a secretary.

“Um…” Cato mumbled.

“You’ll need to speak up, child,” the pile of papers said, kindly.

“Um,” Cato tried again, marginally louder this time. His hands fisted in determination. “I wanted to know… I mean… see…”

When he dithered, brushing the toes of his small boots against each other absently, the papers spoke again a soft encouragement, “Take your time, dear.”

“Can you give me a list of the elvhen students in the Circle?” he finally managed. A bit blunt, but at least it was out there.

The secretary hummed, curious, and leaned far over the mountain of papers to actually look at Cato for the first time. He was met by the usual drop in the Secretary's’ face that Cato didn’t quite understand.

“ _May_ I give you a list of that description,” he corrected, frowning slightly. “I can have one written up and delivered, certainly. Who sent you?”

“Huh?”

“Who are you serving? Who wants the list? I need to know where to send it, boy.”

“Oh… oh! I, uh…” Cato hesitated. He wasn’t sure if he would be allowed the list of names, even if he had been allowed to wander off and ask for them. The assumption that he was a slave did not enrage him this time- at least not in the same way. The anger was there, but this person was… tall. Older. And had a thing he dearly wanted.

He felt- Cato puzzled the feeling out slowly, the fast, thrashing feeling that wanted to wiggle up his throat like an eel. He didn’t know. He hadn’t felt like this before. He just knew he didn’t like it.

But two weeks of uncertainty and abstract isolation and the hope of his own pack, his own elvhen alliance ( _friends_ ) was now worth more to him than the secretary’s respect.

“M-matron Flavia,” he lied, looking away as he did. “But she needs it quick, so I can just wait here for it to be done.”

“Do you know why she needs it?” he asked offhandedly. Cato froze, trying to think of a lie that would make sense. In the end he didn’t have to; the secretary waved his hand, dismissing what he thought was a dull training slave. “Nevermind that, just take a seat. I’ll check with Records in a minute.”

Cato crawled into one of the tall seats, face flushed in a red bright enough to match his hair, and focused on bouncing the tip of his toes against where they brushed the floor. He didn’t understand the details of how he was feeling, but he did know there was anger there, and he got anger. He dug that up to focus on while he waited, the background buzz of whatever else was there slowly fading until there was just mad.

The secretary took his time, finishing whatever he was scrawling before preparing, folding and sealing it with the Circle’s wax seal. It was tossed to the top of one pile of papers and he finally stood, heading back to rooms further into the office, presumably to Records. Time crept by slowly while Cato stewed in fury until the secretary finally returned.

“I included the list of elves doing remote studies and post-enchanter studies because I assumed they didn’t want just the two names,” he explained, handing the folded paper off to Cato and shooing him on his way.

“ _Two_ names?” Cato asked, shaken. He unfolded the paper and saw a short list of names divided into years and location. His own name was at the top, and directly beneath that was scrawled in clean, elegant cursive was the second:

Calpernius Titus, age 13

Cato’s ears twitched inside their cuffs, wanting to swivel back in dismay. “But… there’s a lot of students. There’s got to be a hundred. There is only one other- there are only two elves?”

“‘Got to be a hundred,’” the secretary repeated, amused at a five-year-old’s estimations. “There are one thousand, one hundred and fourteen apprentices currently boarded in the Minrathous Circle, with about fifty apprentices enrolled and studying abroad.”

“And _two_ elves?”

“Perhaps only two got in because lazy elves stand around _talking_ when they have a job to be doing,” the secretary argued curtly before falling back into his seat. “Or perhaps it’s because we accept quality magi, not just any animal with a staff that applies. Less prestigious schools may stuff their classes with whoever can pay, but the Minrathous Circle has standards.”

Rage (and the murmuring feelings besides) surged into Cato’s tiny body, making his face contort into something ugly. The cuffs on his ears kept them from swiveling down low, but the impulse tugged at the piercings that held the cuffs in place. He bellowed out a huff through his nose.

“Matron says thanks,” he grumped, turning on his heels and stomping out before he accidentally set something on fire in a fit of pique.

\--

Actually finding Calpernius proved to be more difficult than Cato had hoped. The layout of the school made sense, but Cato didn’t have much practice navigating outside of the home he grew up in, and counting the rooms and floors proved difficult when he still had to concentrate to count very well. Most of the older apprentices ignored him as he passed, mistaking him no doubt for a slave, but Cato remained prickled and alert regardless.

He was not lacking in directions. Although the first time was stilted and gave him echos of that weird, unplaceable feeling, Cato swallowed it down shakily and approached a slave scrubbing down the windows. It got easier from there. He lost his way many more times, but every slave that passed him knew where the differently-aged students were boarded, and after the surprise that he was asking them wore off, they answered his questions promptly and politely. They, at least, could tell on sight that Cato was a freeman and mage, which made the girl and secretary even stupider than _slaves_. The thought made him feel a little better.

His search ended as twilight began, staining the sky pink beyond the newly washed windows. The dorm master for Calpernius’ age group hadn’t known where Calpernius was when Cato explained himself, but one of the nearby apprentices interrupted.

“Titus is always at the library. Right next to the desk. Everybody always knows where to find him,” he said, smile strangely broad.

Cato took a good look at the apprentice, trying to figure out why there was an undertone of merriment to his words, trying to figure out where he’d heard something like that before. It made him uneasy, but the grin crinkling the edge of the boy’s pitch-brown eyes gave nothing away.

“Thanks,” Cato said, shoulders drawing inward as he took a step towards the dorm master.

The apprentice stepped forward again, drawing up close and resting a hand on the back of Cato’s neck. Cato stilled, stiff. “I could bring you to him myself, if you’d like!” the apprentice offered. “I know Titus will love to see you.”

“That’s okay,” Cato managed. “I know where that is. I passed it on the way up.”

“Master Regulus, I really do think I should escort him there. He’s young,” the apprentice reasoned.

The dorm master- Master Regulus- hummed absently even as he looked past Cato and the other boy to a gaggle of apprentices precariously close to setting a tapestry on fire. “Boys!” he snapped over their heads, before giving Cato and the apprentice the barest attention. “Yes, yes, whatever Andorus. Be back by curfew.”

The dorm master dismissed them, running off and shouting something about mage light and candles as he did so. Cato looked up to Andorus’ face and shrank at the houndish smile the boy returned.

“To the library,” Andorus said cheerfully, before coaxing Cato forward with a hand between his shoulder blades.

As soon as they left the dormitories, Cato began formulating a plan to escape. He couldn’t really outrun the older boy- his legs were far too short. The only hope he had was to distract him and hide, but apart from the obvious hiding spots in the blind spots of the window’s framing and the enclaves built into the ancient Imperial architecture, there was little cover for him. Perhaps in a group of other students? He would have to time that carefully and hope they were on his side if this Andorus began yelling for him.

Cato deliberated strategy, small body tense, the entire way to the library. When he was turned past the double doors and into the massive room, high-vaulted ceiling and rows upon rows of books expanding in what felt like miles in every direction, he was at first stunned at the room’s magnificence, the scent of old parchment and learning and an impossible to describe freedom in the shadow of the silent bookcases, and then stunned that he made it here without any sort of duplicity or attack.

Andorus motioned him forward again, smile cheshire-wide as ever, past the librarian’s desk and pointed to one of the nearest tables.

The boy at the table sat by himself, and the wrongness of him shook Cato’s core. His hair was long and its ends were frayed and frazzled, held loose like he was hiding behind a curtain. If he had been human, it would have seemed natural, but the rough, blistered edge of Calpernius’ ears peeked through the bolt of hair. His ears were round and humanoid, small where they had been mutilated.

“Are you Calpernius?” Cato asked, shyly, unable to stop staring at the amputated ear.

“Look, Cal! A new elf! He came looking for you and everything,” Andorus offered, mirth in his voice as he guided Cato forward with a gentle push.

Calpernius turned sharply, staring down at Cato with a strange face. His eyes were large, poorly matched to the face that held them. It was hard to tell if the look he gave was in response to Cato’s presence or if it was a permanent fixture from the artificial bridge of his nose. Cato didn’t know which he would prefer.

It was a disguise. A poor one, but one to make him, at a glance, look human.

“I don’t know him,” Calpernius murmured to Andorus. Then, down to Cato, “I don’t know you. I don’t want to know you. Don’t talk to me again.”

He began to gather the books he had laid out on the table, not meeting either of their eyes, when Andorus pressed. “Aw, come on Cal. You don’t feel any kinship? No ‘wild brothers of the forest’ or some elf shit? None at all? You’re going to just let this poor little bunny fend totally for itself?”

For emphasis, Andorus wrapped an arm around Cato’s shoulder and pinched his cheeks together, ignoring how Cato batted and clawed at him to stop, whimpering behind the hand.

“He’s not my responsibility. Fuck off,” Calpernius said flatly, heaving the books against his chest.

“Wow. Heartless,” Andorus marveled, letting Cato go with a shove. He took three steps forward before a sudden heavy draw of mana in the air made the pages of the open books around them turn, as if from a soft breeze.

“No combat magic in the library,” a voice rumbled. The three of them turned to the tall, imperious librarian overseeing them from behind her desk. She pointed a single elegant finger to a long sheet of paper and its many amendments nailed next to the door. Rules for the library. When she continued, she sounded more akin to a scolding mother. “You know that better than anyone, Titus.”

“Just a shield, Mistress,” Calpernius assured with a short, polite bow. He looked back to Andorus over his shoulder with a vexed look, and then down to Cato with an utterly scathing glare. He hesitated next to the door, nose wrinkled and making his already uncanny face ugly and mean. Next to Cato, Andorus moved towards him again, bouncing up on his toes and vibrating like a hound ready to give chase.

“The library is big enough,” Calpernius conceded, but his nose remained wrinkled, his teeth bare. He warned, “So, I _better_ not see you again.”

Cato stood, stunned, and watched as Calpernius spirited past the library’s doors, Andorus coursing just after.


	5. Psychopomp and Circumstance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings for this chapter: implied auditory hallucinations (not malicious but initially surprising)
> 
> ...that's a very specific warning but I'm trying to avoid spoilers. Bear with me.

The assembly of apprentices in the large, lofted lecture hall was intimidating. Tertius was a shy child, made doubly so by his father's insistence that he speak only when necessary (to the enchanters, or when asked a direct question by another student). In the sea of children surrounding him, all of them chattering away to their neighbors, he felt distinctly lonesome, and for not the first time today he wished that he was home, wrapped up in a blanket and reading with his mama.

The thought left him sullen, looking at the tips of his shoes while they waited for the speaker to arrive.

After too long a time, a woman approached the speaking podium at the front of the hall, face aligned with the shining fuscia crystal mounted at the podium head. When she spoke, her words reverberated throughout the entire room, mana residue from the projection enchantment dusting the air invisibly around them."If you would all be silent, we can begin," she said, sternly. The chatter quickly grew to a murmur and then just the sounds of robes shuffling and someone coughing from the other side of the room. No one wanted to be the first to fail to follow directions. Tertius wondered if everyone who attended was given the same speech by their mother or father or nannies about how important it was to behave and reflect well on their family, or if the obedience came naturally to them in a way that Tertius hopelessly struggled with, despite best efforts.

The speaker continued. "Thank you. Now, classes from here on will be divided into smaller groups that you will be assigned to by your Dorm Master for the next five years. After that point, your classes will be assigned based on your capabilities, availability, and personal preference, in that order. The Minrathous Circle is filled with examples of excellence, and our great Imperium's strength lies in our commitment to the meritocracy and honoring the best among us with the responsibility to lead. Exceptions will not be made for those who do not earn a position. I suggest you work hard to make sure and take advantage of this spectacular opportunity and resources around you and rise to each of your individual potentials."

Tertius glanced away from the speaker, distracted by the movement out of the corner of his eye. A few of the apprentices had already lost interest and were whispering to each other, while one apprentice a bit further down was bouncing on her heels in boredom. Tertius focused back on the speaker, scoffing to himself. Those apprentices wouldn't be much competition if they couldn't even get through this without getting distracted. He had endured longer lectures from his nanny for eating with his elbows on the table.

While Tertius prided himself for being a particularly disciplined five-year-old, the speaker paused to let her words sink in. Then, she began again with a lighter tone. "Today is a very special day for you all, however. Our head of Formari research has finished assessing the staves that have-"  


The speaker paused again, waiting for the sudden burst of excitement that manifested in gasp, squeals and more chatter to die down before continuing. She seemed to expect the children's wildness, as she was smiling as she continued, "Has finished assessing the staves that have been commissioned and submitted for some of our students. Those without a personal staff submitted will be assigned one by our Formari senior enchanters. Senior enchanters, please raise your hands."

A handful of mages arranged in a line along the side of the room raised their hands, looking welcoming out at the new faces.

Tertius froze.

One's first staff was special. An honor. It was a symbol of becoming part of something important, of being worthwhile. His brothers' first staves were kept in their estate's library, mounted alongside a collection of their family's history of first staves and decorated with other family accolades. Tertius had often stood in front of them, admiring the craft and wishing with a fluttering heart that he had one of his own.

It only occurred to him now that he might not get anything special here. He was born third, neither heir to the Danarius house nor next in line. Tertius looked at the ground, keeping still so that his tears might remained walled over his eyes instead of spilling over and the speaker called name after name to retrieve their staff. He tried not to be preemptively disappointed. The Circle assigned staves were perfectly serviceable, with a entirely adequate foci embedded in their plain, smooth wood. It was really just looks that made a commissioned staff different than any other. It didn't matter.

"Gaius Tertius Danarius?" she called, and Tertius came to life as if shocked. He slipped between the rows of apprentices and scurried down the aisle at the side of the audience, directed gently by one of the speaker's assistance towards the row of children already called.

Tertius swallowed, craning to look past the row to where one of the Formari enchanters handed a beautifully carved staff with a silvery swan to one young mage that cooed as it was placed in her hands. Beyond, he saw the scarce few apprentices who hadn't be deemed worthy of a personal staff, holding the common-looking staves against their chest abashedly. Tertius could feel his heart in his chest, knew that's where he was going. Knew it.

Finally, the apprentice before him was granted his staff (a lovely mahogany thing with gems set in its head) and Tertius stepped forward. He braced himself, jaw tight and lip wibbling.  


But the enchanter did not send him swiftly away.

"Gaius Tertius Danarius, yes?" the enchanter confirmed, reading over his list carefully. Tertius nodded once, still stiff and waiting. The enchanted smiled and turned, reaching out for a staff as he spoke. "Congratulations."

Tertius stared. The enchanter presented him with a staff- a beautiful thing. The wood was stunning white and gently carved with smooth, rolling waves that patterned out from its grip as if rippling, whorling up to the head of the staff, where it's foggy glass foci peeked out from the carved wood. Curled atop that were three intricate snakes, their scales rendered beautifully in pearl and lines of gold with sparkling peridot glinting at their eyes.

Tertius ached. It was magnificent. Better than he could have ever dreamed, and the tears spilled over at once as he reached for it. When his fingers closed around the cold leather wrap of the grip, Tertius held his breath.

He felt at once constricted, a pressure pushing around him that made it harder to breath. The sound of rushing wind roared in his ears and dissolved into momentary voices, a whole cacophony competing to speak over each other, and the silence. But, no, not silence. The distant, indistinct whispers susurrating from strange places, past the walls and below the floors.

Tertius looked at the audience out of the corner of his eyes, thinking for a moment the bizarre sound had come from them. They were the only people present, after all, but there was nothing that seemed to account for the sudden deafening rush and lingering impossible whispers that floated in the air the same as the mana residue of before. He looked down at the staff, wondering at the shining peridots as they seemed to wink at him.

"Run along, Apprentice Danarius," the Formari enchanter urged. "We have a lot of students to get through today."

Tertius scurried as he was told, momentarily setting aside the unexplainable phenomenon so as to not be impolite. As soon as he reached the other children who had already received their staves, most of them bragging and comparing the personal touches, some of them fawning over other's, Tertius inspected his more closely.

There didn't seem to be anything wrong with his staff. It was as glamorous and exquisite as he had initially thought. No cracks, no chips. Not even fingerprints on the pearlescent surface of the snakes' twining bodies. No sign at all that it had been tampered with. A new, unexpected fear rose up in Tertius at how unexplainable it is, spurred by how distracting and uncanny the murmurs fell on his ears.

He should tell someone. Should he tell someone? What if the problem was with him, some new fault hidden inside of him to be brought out with a touch of magic. Tertius swallowed, wincing as he held his beautiful staff away from him just a little. He couldn't tell anyone. He wasn't even supposed to talk to anyone unless it was very important. He could manage this fine. It was just some voices. They weren't even loud anymore.

The remaining ceremony passed slowly, Tertius starting occasionally when a voice whispered almost intelligibly, sounding as if someone was whispering right in his ear. He lacked the focus as much as the undisciplined children he had just earlier scoffed at by the time the speaker made her closing statements, and her words were lost beyond Tertius' own spiraling thoughts.

As soon as Tertius and the other children were finally lead back to the dormitories, Tertius shuffled silently to his bed and placed his staff on the blanket beside him, resting the ornate head on his pillow revrently.

The whispers quieted further, nothing more than a soft hush that could be mistaken for a light draft.

While the other children entertained themselves for the rest of the evening proudly parading their staves, Tertius slid off the bed and to his trunk tucked beneath him. He rummaged through the contents, pulling out books and clothes and a case of charcoal before he found a blanket. His yellow blanket.

That sight of it made his sad, and his throat tight.

Tertius pulled it from his trunk slowly, laying out out on his bed over the staff and carefully wrapped it in the blanket, swaddling it like a baby. The voices grew quieter still, lowering to near silence. As he slid the staff beneath his bed alongside the re-packed trunk, Tertius resolved to learn something more.

\--

The library, as it turned out, had a few books on staves. If you considered "a few" to be an entire section, several dozen massive tomes lined up with thick, intimidating spines and words too long for him to ever hope to pronounce. He had managed to ask one of the librarian's assistants to help him find the section to begin with, but after he had ushered Tertius to one of the tall bookshelves and explained with a sweeping gesture that "anything in this row" would be pertinent, the assistant had left, and Tertius didn't feel confident in summoning him back for more help. Not only because he worried about speaking too much with the complication of his stutter, but also in concern at revealing to a stranger the sudden whispers plaguing him. 

The advent of the youngest apprentices getting their first staff just the other day gave him an excuse to want to learn more, even made him look like he had initiative, which his papa would have liked, Tertius would like to think, but he didn't want to press his luck too far and arouse suspicion. While he didn't know what exactly the cause of the voices were, he instinctively suspected that it was something he'd want to know about himself before anyone else did.

That was something of a running theme when you were from a magister's house.

As for the whispers, they remained distant, but more obvious in the library, when there was little ambient sound to distract from their presence. They no longer disturbed Tertius as they did yesterday when the strangeness was new and unexpected, but it still forced him to read the names of the books out loud to himself to be able to focus on what they said. The voices weren't as great a distraction to his own thoughts as they had been either, but it would take some time still to get used to.

None of the books seemed particularly more relevant to his predicament than any other, so he finally settled on one to pick by the shade of the book's cover and how nice the font on its spine looked. He pulled a green-spined book with golden lettering from the shelf and grunted when it fell into his hands, nearly tipping him over. It was a bit heavier than expected.

Tertius carried it over to the open study desks lining the edges of the library and let the book thump heavily against the surface. On either side, the sparse students dotting down the row of desks in either direction looked up from their books scathingly at the noise, and Tertius bowed in apology, bashful. Still, he slipped into the seat (feet dangling from the height of the chair meant for older students) and peeled the pages open, the flapping and crinkle of the old paper sounding loud.

When he looked down at the page, he panicked. For a moment, Tertius had thought that whatever strange event had occurred yesterday when he was granted his staff had stolen his ability to read as well, as when he looked down on the page the text was wholly gibberish. He scanned the page and finally relaxed when he picked out a few smaller words he recognized and could read, and realized his problem was just a matter of the book being too advanced for him. Most of the words on the page were long concepts he hadn't yet heard of, and though he managed to sound out a few of the longer words just to prove to himself he was capable of doing so, it seemed like his "pick whatever book looked the nicest" strategy wasn't a reliable way of finding something helpful.  


Tertius huffed, heaved the book back off the desk and tottered precariously with it back to the section on staves to put it back and try again.

This cycle continued for three, four, five more books before Tertius found one that was more his speed. It was thinner, newer and a bit less impressive than some of the more interesting looking books, but it approached the subject simply, explaining even the most simple concepts patiently.  


Tertius began reading voraciously, mumbling the words under his breath as his did to focus over the constant murmur of voices that drove him there to begin with. It was slow going. He could read well enough, but the book was still more difficult than he was used to. The pages turned at a frustratingly slow pace. When Tertius finally shook his head and arched his back to stretch out the ache of sitting for too long, he had only managed a few chapters of the book, far from even halfway. He was usually done with books by now.

Tertius stood, discouraged by how little progress he had made and even more so by the complete lack of anything relevant found so far. He decided to take a break and get a sip of the conjured water provided near the library's door. As he walked, he took solace at least in knowing that his stutter had hardly cropped up at all when he was just reading to himself. Perhaps he could get better at it by practicing like this? He knew he was to take classes with a tutor to fix how he spoke, but didn't know when those were to begin, and though he was shy and liked the quiet and peace of reading and drawing by himself, he still missed the option of talking to the other apprentices if the opportunity arose.

Tertius was heading back to his desk and book when he passed by one of the other student's abandoned desks, its owner probably off to get another book or refill his inkwell or something like that. It normally wouldn't concern Tertius, but as he passed by, the color and lines of the books illustration drew his attention and at once enthralled him.

It was a picture of a cat, but Tertius didn't recognize it as such initially. The illustration was expertly done, and the silhouette of the animal was clear, but as Tertius approached the book closer, lured by the colors (reds, pinks, blues) he didn't expect to see, he saw the form filled with strange shapes. Lines pointed to the unusual blocks of color, labeling things (stomach, intestines, heart) and Tertius was instantly enamored.

The whispers, he realized, had gone quiet.

Shyly, glancing around and prepared for the book's owner to come and shoo him away, Tertius furtively slipped into the desk's chair. He had never seen a picture of inside something like that before. It never even occurred to him that there were something inside people, even if he knew intellectually of blood, bones and where his tummy was from when it was upset. But it had always just been.

Seeing it now, before him, laid out... it was pretty. His fingers brushed the page lightly.

"Excuse me?"

Tertius started, stumbling out of the chair and a few paces away to give the older student her desk and room back. She looked down at him. Not mad. Not annoyed. A flat, amused expression, one that didn't quite chase Tertius away.

He looked at the illustration in the book and then back up to the student, want swelling up in him keenly. He wasn't supposed to speak. He's not supposed to. He's…

"Like what you see?" she asked, sounding playful.

Tertius' eyes widened in surprise before he nodded emphatically, raising to his toes and bouncing in excitement. He gave a high-pitched squeak from his throat in the affirmation.

"There are other anatomy references in the fourth row. You wanna grow up to be a healer too?"

A healer? Tertius stopped himself from laughing out of politeness. Healing was not a beloved profession in the imperium, perhaps because so many of the magisters used blood magic like his papa, and there were no easier way to tell if someone had been casting with blood than trying to heal them with magic. The two disciplines didn’t play nice together.

"I-" he began, and stopped himself so swiftly his little teeth clicked together. The bashfulness returned as his words left, and his hands curled over his chest meekly.

"Ah, I see!" the apprentice suddenly said, sounding triumphant. She reached forward and Tertius froze as her hand got close, but she only grabbed his hand, his fingernails blackened with charcoal messily. "You're an _artist_. Well, that's something, I guess. I had to take painting lessons. It was _so_ boring, but I guess it's not for everyone."

She released his hand and he brought it back to his chest, cradling it as if it had been scalded, and scowled behind in loose, scraggly hair. She didn't seem to notice or care, attention returning back to the book with the picture in it, and Tertius sulked away.

It was only then did Tertius truly notice the whisper's retreat to nothingness, appreciating the peace and quiet with a sigh. He had no luck finding any useful information on the dry, unforgiving manuals, but there had to be some reason the whispers had left him. Tentatively, he counted out the rows until he reached the fourth.

His finger rested on the top of one spine that read "Anatomy of the Modern Equine". Equine meant horse. He liked horses. He liked the color and mystery of squiggles and lumps of colors that were apparently inside people. He slid the book out, opening it there on the floor before bothering to drag it back to the study desk and flipped through the pages.

Text, text and more boring text, and he was prepared to give up when he reached a page of a skeleton, illustrated carefully and lovingly there across two pages. This whispers were utterly silent, and in their place a curious alertness, and excitement that matched his own. Amazing. Was there more?

He flipped forward, pausing at every page with a closer look at bones in certain parts of the body, how the legs were shaped and the mesmerizing pattern of the ribs and bones in the back.

"Lum-bar v-... vertebrae," he managed, his stutter only a small snag. He kept turning pages, eyes sparkling in delight when he was introduced to an diagram with partial musculature.

\--

It was far past dark when the spell was lifted, Tertius sitting in the aisle of the bookshelves and blinking against the dimness that made reading difficult. Hours later, and the slew of books he had pulled out cluttering the row. He stretched, rubbing his eyes, and chalked the entire endeavour up as a resounding success.

The whispers hadn't bothered him all evening.


	6. Icebreaker and Firestarter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for this chapter: racism

Cato's ears pricked in their cuffs when first ushered into the smaller classroom. He paused at the door, taking in the banners of brightly painted runes that hung on the walls and the piles of black and gold pillows embroidered with the Circle's double-dragon seal. At the far wall there were tall pots of pigment and clear glass jars of vibrant paint. As he rose to his tiptoes, he could see over the edge of the table and took in the scattered reams and reams of paper.

Other apprentices in their small group filed in behind him, one shouldering him hard as she passed. He recognized her as the girl on the boat and felt surprisingly pleased. He had won their first tussle, in his opinion, and he was more than prepared to show off his skills if she needed him to prove them once more.

Cato's confidence stemmed in part from being one of the few children of his age whose magic had already grown in. He was hardly consistent or precise with it just yet, but that's what the Circle was for anyway. The fact that he could more times than not summon up a sparkling flame was good enough for him.

"Children," a man said, sitting at the front of the class with his heavy enchanter’s robes fanning out from him regally. This class' teacher, Cato assumed. "If you all would have a seat on the ground, we can begin."

"I'm not sitting on the ground like some slave," a girl- _the_ girl- said, and Cato caught her face just in time to see how she looked to him and sneered. His initial excitement to see her trumped flared back to life with a vengeance. Cato's ears pinned so hard in their cuffs the piercings tugged painfully at the shell of his ear.

"We're all sitting on the ground," the teacher said mildly, obviously used to this little brat's brand of prissiness. "As you can see, I'm already sitting here, and I'm not a slave, am I?"

"No..." the girl admitted, sullenly.

"That's right. These pillows are here because they're more comfortable than the desks, and you can jump up and run around more easily. Doesn't that sound like more fun?" the enchanter persisted.

"Lots more fun," Cato agreed, plopping heavily onto one of the pillows and turning his wrinkled nose up at his de facto rival. She waited until the enchanter's attention was focused on one of the other students trying to get comfortable next to him for the opportunity to stick his tongue out at him.

He stuck his tongue out harder.

"I know you all are eager to demonstrate how serious and mature you can be," the enchanter said, returning his attention to the group on a whole (and, perhaps, eyes lingering on Cato just as he slurped his tongue back into his mouth). "But the greatest symptom of maturity is leaving behind the fear to appear childish."

Cato wasn't sure he knew what that was supposed to mean, but the enchanter probably knew what he was talking about, and the other apprentices all nodded solemnly, so he followed suit so as not to be thought of as dull.

The students took an impressively long time to follow the simple task of finding a place to sit and sitting, wanting to pair up with friends (allies) or sit facing away from the wall with all the windows so they didn’t have to squint through the glare, or to sit facing the window so they could look outside. Cato wiggled on his pillow, impatient at his peer's persnicketiness and chomping at the bit to begin. The only time he was addressed before the class was finally settled was being directed to back up and help form a circle with the pillows so everyone could see the enchanter with ease. Which he did with a simple scoot.

"Now," the enchanter finally began, bringing Cato from where he was miserably slumped in boredom into rapt attention. "If you look around, the other apprentices here will be very important for the next few years. They will be your lifeline if you need assistance and your Enchanters are not available to answer questions. Introducing yourself and making friends is blah blah... blah blah blah. Blah blah-"

Cato's focus roamed during the distinctly not-magic-related lecture, eyes drifting over the colorful banners again and finally coming to rest out the window, where he could see the outline of the northern wing's tower. He thought the roofing was pretty, and counted the fat little pigeons that dotted the edge.

"Would you like to begin?" the enchanter asked the student to his left, who stood with a curt nod. Cato's focus returned to the circle abruptly, worried that he had actually missed something now that the enchanter was asking something of the students.

The apprentice took a step into the circle, hands folded primly behind his back. He stated his name and house, that he liked the color blue and his favorite animal was a tiger, and that he wanted to join the Chantry when he grew up.

Oh. It was just this. The dorm master had made them all huddle around and play this game shortly after they had claimed their beds, albeit with far less success given how many more apprentices they had to corral and keep focused all at once. Cato didn't like it then, and he didn't like it now. It had nothing to do with magic, and what's more besides he didn't appreciate the way all the apprentices looked at him in polite disbelief when he said he was going to be a general and a magister.

It did, however, give him the opportunity to learn more about his arch nemesis and chief enemy. His Tamas had said that knowing who it is you're up against is very important.

The children went around the circle, giving their name and a little about themselves, and Cato's attention was realigned with his new outlook on "reconnaissance". He would take some time to remember all of their names (he was never good at that) but there were many house names that Cato could recall from the genealogy and state lessons he had been forced to sit through since he could remember. One slightly frail looking girl was from the Avaci house, a Magisterial house that represented a large section of the farmlands to the south of Minrathous. An old and wildly wealthy house that commanded respect that didn't seem reflected in her skinny and tremulous form.

Cato's brow knit, and he sat up straighter with his chin high and proud. If it was possible that such a house could produce such an... uninspiring progeny, that means his family's name alone couldn't convey its actual impressiveness. He'd have to demonstrate the fierceness and worthiness of his house himself and reflect well on it, just as Tamas would expect.

The girl- his enemy- stood. "My name as Amali, heir to house Vesta, and-"

Cato blinked, no longer listening. He had heard that house before, but where did not come immediately to mind. It wasn't one of the major contenders in the senate, that he was sure of. The list of houses on par or greater in power, strength or reputation he had learned at nearly the same time he had learned how to say his own name. In the Imperium, it was extremely important to know who you could not afford to insult under any circumstance.

It pleased Cato immediately to know she was not among them.

But who was she? What was that house? Cato wracked his brain, circling down the ladder of social importance and the corresponding names he had memorized until the house reared it's ugly head.

That was a _Laetens_ house. Cato felt at once gleeful. Of course she was so keen on kicking down at him when she thought he was a slave. So low was she on the pecking order she probably didn't have anyone else she thought was fair game to prey on, and wanted to prove herself as not one to be taken lightly.

_Well then._

Cato stood swiftly as the last apprentice folded back into a sit beside him, chin up and eyes shut in proud disinterest.

"I'm Cato of the _Altus_ house Fen'Rhea, and I'm going to be a magister-" a soft murmur of disbelief, as expected, and he quickly continued, "Like my _tamas_ \- that means mother- Euphia Fen'Rhea."

The disbelief warped, still unbelieving but this time with a undercurrent of tension and worry. His Tamas was a force to be reckoned with, and no doubt the other apprentices didn't expect him to come from someone so fierce and dangerous and strong and great. Cato positively preened with the attention, usually not caring from the esteem of his peers but pleased that he was finally being treated with the respect that he- and more importantly his family- had deserved. His tamas had earned that; she didn't go off and hunt down all those oxmen for her son to be pegged as a slave just because his ears were pointed.

"I'm going to learn blood magic and fight Qunari so we're safe and they know they can't pick on us because we'll run them off because we're stronger and better."

Cato paused, caught off guard by the sudden strain in the atmosphere. The other apprentices were watching him now with a mix of concern and fear and, on the bolder mageling, cold rejection. Cato prickled at the sudden shift, swaying his weight from one foot to the other uncomfortably.

"You're going to try and enter into the Circle-approved maleficarum program for soldiers, then?" the enchanter clarified for him, graciously.

"Yeah?" Cato said, unsure now that the faces around him seemed to wall him with icy mistrust. "That's the right way to do it, cos otherwise it's illegal."

"My papa says if you use blood magic it's cos your magic isn't strong enough by itself."

Cato whipped his head towards the source of the words, surprised that the insult wasn't lobbed by the Laetens girl but instead some lower Altus boy with a mean face. The piercings in Cato's ear cuffs tugged as his ears pulled against their binding.

"Apprentice Quinto, that was not an appro-" the enchanter began sternly, but Cato was having none of it.

"That's not true! It's just a tool to make your magic even stronger, that's why people do it. My tamas would learn everything she could in order to protect ungratefully kids like you and she does it the right way with the Archon saying she can cos she's so strong and good at it and in control. And I'm going to do it like she did so you can just shut your mouth cos my magic is stronger than yours anyway! You probably can't even cast anything yet."

Cato ended his words by sticking his tongue out again.

"Apprentice Fen'Rhea," the enchanted said, voice low. "Sit down."

"But I wasn't done-"

"Sit."

The rumors whispered between children and the enchanter's disapproval turned Cato's cheeks bright pink. He sat, trying not to think of how he was being commanded like a dog (or a slave) and made to be quiet just for defending his house's reputation and ways. He stewed, cross-legged and twisted mouth, nearly vibrating at the injustice of it all.

"What you said before..."

Cato jumped, surprised at the boy beside him whispering over as the other apprentices were slowly worked through. Cato leaned forward, waiting for clarification.

"Does that mean you can cast magic already?"

"Uh huh," Cato nodded.

"What, really? Naw, you're lying."

"You wanna see?"

"Fine then, yeah! Prove it!"

Cato leaned back, nose wrinkling again, this time in concentration. He wasn't very good at this yet, that was true. His aim had always been atrocious when he practiced setting the little straw dummies on fire in the field behind his estate. To be fair though, most of that was probably from being distracted by Aunny cheering for the dummy.

"Alright then," Cato said in a low whisper, determined to prove just how much magic was already coursing through his blood. In defense of his family's honor, so often besmirched in this Circle filled with dumb, whiny kids who didn't know anything anyway, at the very least. "You just watch me!"

\--

"And that's how it happened," Cato finished, still looking down at the ground, the Enchanter's admonishment stinging more than the burns still left on his hands. One of the Circle healer took his other palm and worked his mana into Cato's blistered skin, shaking his head as he did so.

"Apprentice Fen'Rhea, you set three other people one fire," the dorm master reminded him, clearly unmoved by Cato's story of grand injustice and his attempt to defend his family's name.

"And a pillow," the enchanter amended, looking disappointed.

"And a pillow," the dorm master confirmed, solemnly.

"Well I tried to put it out!" Cato said in his defense, whimpering sharply when the healer touched the burn tentatively. "I only meant to singe the boy's hair a little, I didn't think it'd be so big, and I definitely didn't think he's start yelling and running around like a cow being chased by a dragon."

The Dorm master looked down on him sternly, clearly unamused by the image. "And look where that got you."

Cato lowered his head, defeated. He hadn't liked the boy, but it was true that he hadn't meant for things to get out of hand.

The enchanter sighed and stepped forward. "Let me handle this. He was my responsibility."

The dorm master gave Cato one final look over and relented. "I have to make sure Quinto will heal. Send the lad back to the dormitories after you're done with him."

With a great sweep of his wide robes, the dorm master was gone, and Cato was left with just the healer and his disgruntled enchanted.

"I'm sorry," Cato finally offered, head slung low and miserable.

The enchanter turned his attention back to Cato and considered him for a long moment, rubbing his chin thoughtfully with his palm, and seemed to come to a resolution with a sigh. When he spoke, his words were the sedated calm he used at the beginning of the class, and it sounded like forgiveness. "Apprentice Fen'Rhea, mastering your own mind and emotions is the first step in becoming a strong mage, like your... tamas. Part of that is not letting your temper dictate your choices, or else your magic will never match how potent it could be."

Cato looked up then, not quite meeting the enchanter's eye but feeling bolstered by the teacher using the Seheron term- his family's term- with legitimacy. He asked, not disbelieving but genuinely curious, "Why?"

The enchanter laughed, stepping forward and feeling more personable now, more kind, and Cato turned to it like a sunflower. "Well, the details of that were going to be at the end of this class' activity, but I think we got a little distracted."

"I'm sorry," Cato repeated again, feeling sore. He had already said he was sorry, what else was there to do?

Perhaps sensing Cato's regret, the enchanted places a hand on his head affectionately. "I was planning on having to repeat the concept next class anyway. Magic is about focusing your will and concentrating your intention into action. The reason most mages your age can't cast yet is in part because they don't have the control necessary. You do have a gift in being able to make fire even being so young, but that comes with the responsibility to when to use it."

"But they were insulting Tamas! My family!" Cato argued, a burst of fury inside him just remembering their words.

"And do you think your actions today more proved them wrong, or right?"

That, more than the burn, hurt. Cato's lip quivered for a moment before he steeled himself and pushed down the feeling. He wouldn't cry. "They all keep looking at me like I'm bad."

The Enchanter's face was hard to read. "Apprentice Fen'Rhea," he started, carefully. "You're a very unusual child. Like you are gifted for having magic, you also are very fortunate in the house you were born in, given you are... well, there are not many lines of elves that make something of themselves in the Imperium. You need to be prepared for the other children to not know what to make of you, and dismiss you out of hand."

"That's not fair," Cato said quietly.

"Well," the enchanter said, abundant patience and benevolence steeping his voice. "It's not really their fault when so many elves have proven time and again to be incapable of providing for the Imperium at the same level as humans do. Remember, you are the exception to that rule, and that means the other apprentices can't be expected to assume you're as competent as they are."

Cato's lips twisted into a frown. "But I am! You just saw that I am, cos I could-"

"I just saw a very angry elfling set many of my apprentices on fire on accident because he was being prideful," the enchanted said, picture of reasonable as his hand fell away. "Instead, appreciate the opportunities that you have been presented with, instead of demanding respect from people when you, as an elf, haven't yet earned it. You have the chance to ascend like no other of your kind gets. Be grateful for that."


	7. Contrast

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter: talk of ableism, eugenics, victim blaming, more voices, refence to surgically removed body parts for science (brief mention of eyeballs and misc organs, non-graphic), aaaand a... big implied Something Bad at the end of the chapter. Which is vague but so is the thing.
> 
> Swiggity swag...

The stutter was going to be a problem.

Gaius Albus Danarius sat hunched at his desk, lips thin and brow drawn. He had already contacted the circle (discreetly), inquiring about a (discreet) tutor for young Tertius' particular blemish, but there was no overnight solution. There was no answer to be found in blood magic, that he was sure of. His desk was covered in open tomes, the likes of which he would not ordinarily let see the light of day without locking and warding the room. More books littered the floor, uneven, messy, horrible things that tightened the tension along his spine even further. The further away from his desk- a point of origin- the more harmless and more hopeless the sources became. He had given up on finding anything salient when he found himself reading about spirit healers and the absurdity and unlikelihood of fixing the issue in a plain and simple, single spell finally registered.

A spirit healer. Magister Danarius scoffed at the notion, resting his chin pensively in palm. He might as well be looking for a somniari in the heart of the Imperium.

He hated this. A walking shame of his family name out there, sputtering like a slave that was addled from years of processing lyrium. It was a long, black shadow cast on his house's name, a name that he had so painstakingly cultivated to its pristine glory. Past. Spoiled. All due to a moment of impatience and indiscretion.

Looking around the room a final time, Magister Danarius shut his eyes and let out a harsh breath through his nose. He slipped a hand into his pocket, fingers closing around the round, smooth gem there, and sent two pulses of mana into it, summoning his seneschal.

The young woman appeared at the door of his study swiftly, hesitating at the threshold as she looked at the scattered books that littered the typically orderly room.

"Master," she began, gaze traveling along the ground, following the books until she reached his hem, then upward to him folded irritably in his chair. "You seem..."

"Despondent?" Magister Danarius offered with a thin, bitter smile. "Defeated?"

"I was going to say troubled," the seneschal assured. Ever politique. That's why he had hired her.

He clapped his book shut brusquely. "I have a problem, Alina. The worst type of problem, my dear. The kind that involves public shame, and cannot be resolved with magic."

Seneschal Alina looked appropriately dubious. Magister Danarius wasn't certain why- he had just said it couldn't be solved with magic, and blood magic was certainly implied to be included. Her blood was staying right where it was, and besides that, he had better options than her for a sacrifice. She did acceptable work, and would take time to replace, besides.

"I'm sorry to hear that, master," she replied cautiously, bowing as if it were compulsion. You'd think she were _liberate_ with how antsy she was.

"Since I can't throw magic at the problem and have it go away, I'm going to do the next best thing and throw money at it."

"Master?"

Magister Danarius deposited his book atop the pile already on his desk and steepled his fingers. "Tertius' stutter couldn't be fixed before the beginning of his schooling, and to delay enrollment risks making him look unprepared and thus weak. Which makes us look weak, poor-bred and ripe for assassination. I had instructed the boy to remain silent when it was an option, but the charade can't last forever. People will hear, and people will know, and then we wouldn't be in a terribly better position than we were in delaying his education. I've already contacted tutors who teach-" Danarius' scowl grew disgusted- "remedial and delayed apprentices privately."

"You are asking me to adjust our financial records to reflect the payment for his tutors? I can do that, certainly, and make sure to file it under something innocuous sounding so-"

"Yes, yes, that is part of it, possibly. But as I said, it cannot be resolved overnight. I want to display our family's assets to offset as much damage that boy will do when he inevitably opens his mouth. I've already sent in for a high quality foci for his first training staff commission. The purity of the foci will help demonstrate the ample magic in our bloodline, but we need more than that. We can't rest on genealogical superiority when the little disaster appears malformed. We need to distract from that with our house's other assets. If we can't figure out something to distract from his shortcomings, we have the option to send a Crow for Tertius, but that has it's own undesirable effects."

The seneschal said nothing at first, seeming stunned. "Of course," she managed, thickly. "We can't afford to give the house's enemies any ideas by sending an assassin for our own."

Magister Danarius scowled. "Don't be sentimental. I have an heir, and I have a spare. Tertius' only responsibility is trying to avoid tarnishing our family's name, which he has so far managed to compromise by existing and speaking. I'm not convinced that he'll become less of a problem the longer he's in the public eye."

The seneschal bowed, keeping her head turned downward in penitence. "He is fortunate that you've given him the opportunity at all, I'm certain."

"He is," Magister Danarius agreed, coldly. It had been the boy's fault, after all, for not doing the most basic task asked of him and simply obey. It was regrettable that Magister Danarius momentarily lost his composure. It is not something he is proud of (and, in fact, something he hadn't like to dwell on since the incident) but it hadn't needed to be so if Tertius had minded. Willful creature. So like his mother.

After a chilly silence and moment of time, the seneschal risked speaking again. "Did you have something in mind for me to arrange delivered, or were you seeking suggestions?"

"Suggestions. Right now, the Crow is my best option. I'm looking for something better. Something that will tilt impressions into something passably favorable, at least until Tertius' shortcomings can be worked out of him." Magister Danarius' fingertips brushed against his lips and tapped thoughtfully. "Sending a personal slave at his age would look suspicious, he's too young to have any use for one, save perhaps as a personal guard or chaperone. We don't want to give the impression that he needs either of those things- that too would give the appearance of weakness. But slaves with magic in the blood is the vast majority of House Danarius' assets. That's what we're known for."

The seneschal remained silent for a beat, thinking. "Master, if I might make a suggestion?"

"Go ahead, as I said that's why you're here."

"Young Master Tertius' isn't just a Danarius," the seneschal said cautiously, teasing the words out as if braced for offence to be taken. "Since his staff is already a show of your wealth, you could use your ties to his mother's house to distract the students. Wasn't your late wife- Andraste bless her- from a prestigious house herself?"

Magister Danarius' eyes lowered. When he eventually spoke, his words were quiet and unreadable. "Capella was not chosen for her wealth, status, or magical prowess. My duties to the Imperium as a progenitor and househead was fulfilled with my first wife, as you well know."

"Yes, of course, Master. But could you remind me, what was Mistress Danarius' house known for?"

"The most significant thing her family accomplished outside of producing her was their horses. Her... I believe great aunt or somesuch... developed the chargers we use in our cavalry and the Vinter Warmblood. The breed the Archon uses? Well, when he's not traveling via palanquin," Magister Danarius explained. He sounded vexed. "I'm not certain what could be done with that."

Seneschal Alina shifted and gave a very suspicious sounding cough. "If only, master, there were something that every five-year-old desired. Something that would cause enough envy that that was what was reported to the apprentices parents when reporting on young master Tertius."

Magister Danarius closed his eyes. He opened them.

"In my defense," he said, a serpentine smile growing slowly at his thin lips, "it has been quite some time since I've been a five-year-old. But I think I've gathered what you're suggestion."

\--

Tertius was the luckiest, most loved, most excited, most grateful five-year-old in the entire Circle.

He had Stardust.

Stardust was a pony. Her real name was something too long for him to hope to remember, let alone manage to say (she was a very fancy pony, apparently, whose long name came from her 'impressive' lineage), but the pony was dappled grey like the softest sprinkle of dust over something that had long been present but never been touched, and had a star on her head as brilliant as fresh milk. Thus, Stardust. He had even got to name her (well, nickname her), and if anyone had anything bad to say about her Tertius was prepared to study for a hundred hours straight just so he'd know how to cast a fireball at anyone who would dare disparage her.

Since the day she arrived, Tertius had found time to make it out the the stables and riding arena every day. Even when the rain was pouring down and the stablemaster had banned him and the other young riders from taking their horses out in the rain (too great was the risk of slipping and injury), Tertius still slipped into the stables to visit her, bribing her approval with the soggy lump of sugar sticking to his palm that had once been a cube.

The stablemaster had caught him once early on and, not believing Tertius when he said he was just there to talk to his mare, made him muck out a stable as penance. In the end he had only managed a small corner before the stablemaster had thrown his hands into the air and given up on making a skinny five-year-old aristocrat heave dung.

"Shouldn't you be in classes? Or running around like kids are supposed to with their friends?" the stablemaster had asked, after watching Tertius visit enough times to know he truly was saying hello to Stardust for the company and nothing more.

Tertius wilted, his fingers scritching Stardust's withers and making her eyes close in sleepy approval. It was true he had classes that day, but the classes were troubling. While most of the students hadn't had their magic grow in yet, their lessons mostly consisted of practicing learning runes, learning the theory behind casting spells and visualizations. The former of which came easily enough to Tertius, but the latter proved to be a struggle.

He was good at picturing things with his mind, which the enchanter had explained was an important part of learning how to cast. Closing his eyes and envisioning with all the focus he had came naturally to Tertius, and was something he had practiced trying to draw things even before he came to the Circle. The difficult part was looking inside to figure out how he felt. The enchanter had assured them all that knowing yourself was absolutely critical in protecting yourself from possession, to know what voices were your own and which voices were coming from beyond.

That exercise was a bit more complicated when he had voices whispering to him that he was pretty sure at this point he wasn't supposed to have. Even when the enchanter spoke of those other voices, she had always framed it as "in the future" and "when you dream" and "asking you for things". None of which seemed to apply to Tertius' particular problem.

In a way, this was good. It meant the distant, unintelligible murmurs weren't demons trying to trick him. Tertius couldn't hear exactly what they were saying, but he had a hunch they weren't asking for anything. Most of the time it felt as if they weren't even aware he was listening, and he never truly felt threatened or scared by the voices, even when they had first arrived. He hardly ever mistook them for sounds in the room that others could hear too, and his accuracy in picking that out only grew keener as he practiced.

But when his only assignments to work on outside of class is to "practice listening to his own internal voice", he felt uniquely isolated having the added need to shut out the whispers that would not go away no matter how he clasped his hands over his ears.

"I like it here," Tertius said, simply. "It'sss, quiet."

That was true as well. The stables were some distance away from the Circle proper, out on the edge of the grounds. The farther he went from the Circle's towers, the softer the voices grew, and when he rode he felt the same peace he did at night, when he squinted down at the anatomy drawings that seemed to sooth the invisible crowd that followed him.

He didn't need to worry about the whispers when he was out visiting the stables and he didn't worry about how his own words clipped and caught on his teeth when he spoke; his only audience the stablehands (mostly disinterested slaves who wouldn't concern themselves with him anyway) and Stardust. He could ride in peace, or sit listening to the patter of rain on the stable's roof as he sketched out the face of the big charger who watched him curiously accross the stable's aisle. He would blow his breath gently on the page, brushing away charcoal dust and errant straw, feeling alone but no longer lonely.

At night, Tertius felt lonely but not alone. He couldn't justify sleeping out in the stables, no matter how quiet he'd promise he'd be or how comfortable he swore the piles of hay were (although he lied- they prickled and poked at him whenever he sat on them, to say nothing of laying down). Even if he did, he imagined he'd wake feeling groggy and strange like when he napped in the atrium or out on his estate's patio. But sleeping back in the Circle meant the voices would forever pester him as he laid down to sleep, and he was constantly being chastised by the patrolling dorm prefect to "snuff that light and go to sleep, Maker's sake!" 

At first, Tertius' solution was to sleep practically on top of the dense anatomy reference book he had checked out from the library, holding it like some of the other students held stuffed toys. The whispers were silent only when he had the thing opened, but having it so close felt comforting and right, and when he got bored he'd slip it open to one of the illustrations and squint at it in the dark.

Later, Tertius grew bolder, realizing that the prefects and dorm master had little time to focus on him when he wasn't being genuinely disruptive. He was quiet and obedient during the day, taking so frequent naps that he was asleep nearly as often as he was awake, but that certainly stemmed from his nocturnal adventures after lights out. It had only taken a few days to figure out the patrol's schedule, and after constructing a Tertius-shaped lump with his pillow that he thought was actually quite impressive, he crept between the partitioned beds and slipped silently into the Circle's dark corridors.

It was all very exciting, pretending to hide in the enclaves of the Tevinter architecture and dodging older students as he ghosted through the halls. Outside the dormitory wing few people gave him a second glance, even with how young he was. Granted, there weren't many people up and about at that time of night, but there were always a sprinkling of older students hard at work in the library, academically-induced neuroticism making them interesting subjects for people-watching.

Tertius spent a great deal of his time at night, trotting silent and free between the tall walls of bookshelves and exploring. There was a loft that overlooked most of the lower level, piles of pillows and blankets and low tables for resting food as the students worked, which he enjoyed using to get a bird's eye view of everyone up reading and studying. 

There he first noticed how some of the bookcases overlapped reading enclaves, making little hidden dens he could hide in if he squirmed through one of the lower shelves. He tried it instantly, counting out the bookcases carefully and then finally pulling out all the texts in the bottom row. Sure enough, there was space behind the gap of books, enough for him to stretch out with one of the glowing stones they lent out in the library (as lanterns and other open flames were banned near the books) and some food and pencils. Like having his own little room. Delightful!

That's not to say the Library was the only place Tertius visited during the night. He stayed indoors, true, but he enjoyed sneaking into classrooms while they were not in use, his lantern illuminating the austere trappings of those that were meant for the older students. It appeared that the classroom he attended were purposefully childish with their large-lettered postings and more fanciful hung pictures. For the most part, he couldn't say the classroom for older children were preferable. The exception was one room in the east wing that had a very pretty painting of a horse galloping. That one was okay.

Wherever he went, the whispers would follow. It became a more distant bother gradually, something different about him like his stutter or Stardust, but neither bad nor good. After a time Tertius realized he was probably able to ignore the voices well enough and sleep at night like the others, but slinking around proved to be so enjoyable he elected to spend his free time at night.  
That changed one night when he was exploring the northern wing for the first time. He had been amusing himself on the staircases, skipping up and down the steps and counting out the numbers quietly to himself, when he realized he had gone lower and lower. Looking down the hallway, he saw that the tall windows that lined the corridor walls were gone and replaced by panes of stained glass, illuminated from behind by a kind of magic Tertius couldn't make out through the foggy translucent. He was below ground, on one of the Circle's basement floors.

This place called to him.

Not only literally, with the whispers growing louder and most distinct, more recognizable and just inches away from something he could understand, but there was a deep longing in his chest that felt familiar and right. He walked slowly down the hallway, his boots echoing throughout the empty rooms in the dead of night.

As he moved, he peeked into the rooms, silently observing the wide, low-set tables and stools and the abandoned books still open to where people had last read them. Eyes looked blindly down on him from above, drifting in their jars of formaldehyde next to the strange shapes of other, less placeable organs.

The naturalist's labs.

Tertius smiled faintly, taking in the welcoming, chemical smell. He wouldn't have classes here for years yet, but it already felt like home. He skulked across the hallway to the adjacent classroom to see how many of the body parts there he could label, and if the older students had any experiments out that he could observe.

It was only when the familiar ache of tiredness in his small body warned at the impending dawn did Tertius abandon the labs, hopping up the stairs just in time to see the reverse silhouette of the sunrise begin to form and stretch over the floors of the first story's halls. Just in time to run out and catch Stardust for a pet and a kiss before the other kids would be waking up.

\--

He returned that night, compelled by the feeling of home and by the still-nebulous voices that spoke just beyond his hearing. The stables were a haven for him during the day, warm and quiet and filled with the earthy scent of sweat and dung, but in the blue cast of the night Tertius felt compelled to the antithesis, the cold and abandoned and chemical, where the whispers commanded him loudest.

He returned again and again, sometimes looking at the big, beautiful diagrams of disected creatures drawn in chalk on the board by lanternlight and later, when his magic began to smolder into life, by the tiny, flickering magelight that was the first spell he and the other children were taught. The first time he had brought his staff down with him to the lab, he had ended up stowing it in one of the rooms for the night, so distracting was the voices. But he remained curious as to their nature, and drawn to experimenting with the phenomena how he could. Ran tests as he ventured deeper and further into the labs, and recorded the changes in the whispers as he heard them in his sketch book, next to drawings of bones.

Naturalist's words, like he read in his books. He'd be a proper researcher, practice for when he grew up.

It was a warmer night when, amongst the whispers, Tertius heard a true voice. He instantly knew it was real, that it was there and present in a way the others had not been, and he leapt up from where he was sitting and reading in the dark to follow this new development, only pausing to grab his sketchbook.

He spirited towards the sounds, excited for even a hint at what they had been saying all this time now that one was close enough to record, and jumped at a shrill scream that ended abruptly.

Tertius wondered in fear for only half a moment, before he crept cautiously forward. He knew the whispers weren't bad, they weren't sounds like that, and when he turned down the next corridor and to the sound he was proven right. One of the doors was left ajar, a low light cutting a yellow line against the ground where it peeked through.

It hadn't been the whispers, Tertius realized, almost disappointed that there would be no resolution or even a new discovery in his own strangeness. But then, he had visited the labs at night many times, and they had always been deserted. Why would that suddenly change?

Tertius inched forward, cringing and flinching at the sounds of wailing and impact, of whispers from present people and what sounded like laughter or sobbing, he couldn't really tell. Gradually, slowly, he gathered up at the mouth of the room and aligned his eye with the sliver of open door.

There were older students there, crowding around and delighted with their entertainment: one of them held a large sack, the kind Tertius had seen slaves haul to the kitchen, filled with foodstuffs. they had one end gathered up as the bag squirmed.

There was something in it.

It was too big. There was some _one_ in it.

The muffled screaming had an origin now, at odds with the laughter of the older apprentices. The one holding the sack loosened the gathered section enough for another to drop something- what Tertius could not see- into the bag and clamp it up behind it, gut-busting laughter following as the thrashing in the bag redoubled.

"Do another one, do another one!" one of the boys goaded in a loud hush.

Tertius didn't wait around and see if the other obliged. He did not understand this, but he knew with the same instinct that told him to hide the whispers that this was wrong, that he needed to tell someone, and he trusted that instinct. He fled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...who's in the bag?


	8. Rattus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter: Jesus. Listen, there's a lot of shit going down here. This chapter depicts a hate crime commited against a five-year-old in graphic detail. Violence, verbal abuse, psychological abuse. Improper disposal of animal carcasses. Please be careful. I write a lot of id fic and this in particular was difficult to put down.
> 
> Also, a special thanks to [anothersadplanet](http://archiveofourown.org/users/anothersadplanet/works) for being my temp beta. My usual beta had to bow out for this chapter due to the aforementioned heavy content, so ya'll should thank them for stepping up to the plate and helping to make this actually readable.

A hand shook Cato awake, startling him in his disoriented state. He gathered his bearings, hands splaying out over the sheets of his bed, and peered into the dark. The drawn face of a boy hovered over him, looking very concerned.

"Are you Cato Fen'Rhea?" he asked in a whisper, leaning in. The fuzzy shape set against the dark of night slowly came into focus as Cato blinked the sleep away.

He curled hesitantly back on the bed, immediately on edge by the boy's apparent dismay. He thought of shouting for the dorm master that chaperoned their hall, but thought better of it. He didn't want to wake the whole dorm over what could be nothing. "I'm... why do you want to know? What's going on?"

"You're mother was really hurt. Assassins. She's asking for you," he said urgently.

A wash of terror instantly swept over Cato. Breath caught in his throat and his already dim night vision blurred. He scrambled out of bed, bare feet slapping against the floor and didn't stop until he reached the dorm's doorway, hopping in panic. "Which way?" he asked in a strangled whisper, fear bubbling over. "Where is she?"

The stranger soon followed, his robes spreading as he walked; making dark, indistinct shapes in the low light and seeming to swallow up the hallways as he went. "This way," he pointed north, herding him down the corridor briskly. "She's down here."

"Is she going to be okay?" Cato asked. "What happened? Why was she even here?"

"The healers can explain all that, we were just sent to get you."

The messenger ushered him on, hand on his back while Cato blinked through his tears. His hands came to his mouth hiding the quiet keen of grief he couldn't fully smother. What had happened? Why assassins? His family had never had enemies from within before, not really. They couldn't have brought her here from very far. Had she come to visit him? Why now? How could they have known?

"Down here," the boy urged, pointing down a curve of stairs that went to the wing's basement.  
Cato followed the direction, take the stairs in great leaps of three at a time and tumbling to the ground hard when he tripped. The pain didn't come- he was up on his feet like he hadn't missed a step, even having to wait for the boy to catch up while Cato sprung on his toes in anxious, frenetic energy.

"She's in here, right here," the boy finally directed, pointing to the only lit room in the otherwise abandoned hallway. That fact registered in Cato's mind just as he stepped inside, door behind him shutting with a dreadful, sinking click.

His mother was not here.

 _Oh,_ his mind supplied, the surge of adrenaline clearing for a crystal thought to resonate brightly. He'd made a mistake.

The room was lit with potent magelight, creating an artificial brilliance that felt wrong in the dead of night, felt sickly. There were a half-dozen apprentices in the room, all older and looking at him with bright, interested eyes. Cato could see Andorus behind a tall, ferret-faced apprentice, sitting leisurely on the smooth metal surface of what appeared to be a lab table. Andorus smiled when he saw him, wide, easy, and alarming.

"Nice work," the ferret-faced boy said cheerfully, nodding to the messenger whose hand urged Cato forward. Ferret drew up closer as Cato leaned back, fighting against the push, and looked Cato up and down slowly. If Andorus' smile was wide, Ferret's grin was positively toothsome, bearing unnaturally long eye teeth. "Cute little rattus. Look at him all made up like a person."

Cato was still, his breath held and a fine tremor running down his spine. The words crunched into him, spiking his fear into terror. He felt the hot tears come too quick to be halted, and Tamas' words echoed in his skull like a strangled scream.

 _Don't cry, or they'll think you're more fun to hurt._ Don't cry. _You have to_ stop.

"Oh, he's adorable!" another apprentice chimed in. Who, Cato didn't know- the wall of tears he tried so hard not to blink away blurred the room.

"Like putting a hat on a dog," another added.

Cato took a desperate step backwards tears spilling over when his back collided with the from of the boy who had came for him. A hand was on the back of his neck, gathering up his sleeping gown like a scruffed pup and dragging him forward.

The contact broke Cato's frozen reflex. His lungs gulped for air as he began to cry in earnest, raising his arms to protect his face as Ferret approached.

"What's your name, slave?" Ferret asked, dragging Cato's arms away with a grunt and grasping a handful of Cato's hair at the hairline. He forced Cato's head down in an artificial bow, shaking his grip roughly and making Cato cry out in pain.

Cato scratched and pounded his fists against the grip, finally trying to pry the fingers open one by one before he gave up with a frustrated scream through his clenched teeth. "I'm not a slave, I'm a-"

Cato screamed again as the grip in his hair pushed downward still, doubling Cato over and bringing his face to the floor. The pain exploded over his face, a sudden hot stream of blood in his mouth from a split lip. Blood ran down from his slammed nose, making him gag and his eyes water. Something heavy and solid rested against the back of Cato's head, pinning him with his face mashed into the concrete floors.

It was hard to breathe through the blood. Cato was still again, his small body feeling suddenly distant and cold.

"You're a Fen'Rhea," Ferret said, the words sounding close, as if hissed right into his ear. "A fucking _rattus_ joke, born from your cunt mama, _another_ fucking rattus joke, born from a whole line of shit-eating little rats all the way back to Seheron. Shit-eating rat isle."

Somewhere beyond them, one of the boys laughed, and another hushed him.

Cato remained still and felt nothing but an distant pain over his numb face.

"Your entire family is an insult to our country, and once this Archon dies already, the next one is gonna collar your mama right there in the senate and pump her little whore cunt full of weak-blooded bastard baby brothers and sisters for you, you mark my words," Ferret swore, punctuating himself by spitting in Cato's hair. "Do you know why we kept the Fen'Rheas around for so long? You're pets. We give you a command of a few degenerates and ship you over the water so those animal Fog Warriors piss off. That's all you are, just lip service to trick those rabid rats into thinking elves are worth anything more in our Imperium than what they can stuff in their mouth."

Cato heaved a shuddering breath, turning his head to the side to better snatch what air he could. The sole of a boot blocked out most of his vision, grinding his cheek into the ground. Cato managed a long, moaned "no" between his sniveling.

"No? You don't think so? Why's that? What’d I get wrong? You have other tricks up your sleeve to impress us, or where you refering to your other slave duties?"

Cato gathered a burst of mana from deep inside him and risked bringing forth fire. It was a sloppy display, flames arching only for a moment in the air between them, but it was enough to make Ferret leap away for a moment. Only a moment- as soon as the fire died he dived down and gathered a handful of hair again.

The warp and pressure of magic in the air was much stronger when Ferret did it. He twisted the ambient magic hard and drilled pain into Cato with a ruthless entropy spell. Cato saw only white, the pain hot and cold and drowning at once, flushing away anything but shock from the overwhelming surge.

"Don't you bring magic into this, you little shit. I could as soon kill you with it as I could put up another magelight. You don't want to test me."

Cato wept, bubbles of blood gurgling from his nose. The pressure at the side of his head released, letting him up, and he just barely managed to plant small hands under him before something hit.

The impact was another shock. Heavy and fast, diagonal with the swing of the leg and hooking under Cato's ribs with the top of Ferret's boot. It _hurt_. It hurt, and Cato thought briefly of the Maker, praying to make it stop between kicks. Begging to _live._

At some point, he knew must have spoken his prayers out loud. Not from the delivery from suffering but from the hand that gathered up the front of his sleeping gown.

Ferret spoke. "The Maker doesn't care about animals like he cares about his children. You're a _rattus_ ; just a gross, filthy rat. You should have never come here, you just being hear is a disgrace to the Minrathous Circle. Letting an animal attend classes? It's an embarrassment to all of us. You might as well put a horse in the senate. Let's make the Archon a pig while we're at it. How dare you come here and pretend you're a real person. You're a slave. No matter what you do or who your mama is, you're a slave. That’s what you’re meant to be."

Cato's head lolled on his shoulders, his vision greying softly, and the call to sleep so warm and welcome and close.

But he thought of his mother.

His brother.

(Calpernius' cold, bitter anger.)

"If you don't keel over and die from fear before the end of the night, you're going to withdraw from the Circle tomorrow and get the fuck out of the capitol. If you're not working the brothels or cleaning the streets, you don't belong here. Do you understand?" Ferret demanded. The low growl of fury made Cato shake hard in terror, blood still bubbling and popping, whistling quietly as he tried to breathe.

Cato remained still and quiet, the rattle of his breath seeming loud in the silent room.

"I said ' _do you understand me?_ '" Ferret repeated, giving Cato a single hard shake.

His head tilted over to his shoulder, unable to keep it balanced up and upright any longer. A fresh wave of blood drained down his throat, and when he coughed, flecks of blood misted the air and pinked Ferret's face with faux freckles.

Cato managed a whimper, his fattened lip jutting out and making even that painful and difficult.  
He was so scared. It hurt so much.

"You're going to leave the circle, say it."

But he couldn't. He couldn't say it, he couldn't do it. This is where he had to be. There was no other choice.

And he was more afraid of what Tamas would do than he was of the boys.

Cato stared back at Ferret and blinked slowly. Not a no, but a very obvious not-yes.

He regretted it the instant he did it. A few of the boys behind Ferret exchanged delighted looks, a whisper lingered on the air, and Ferret's face went from sharp, vicious and precise to the rage of a wildfire. He brought Cato's head down, this time knocking the side of his head into the concrete, and sudden black.

\--

When Cato's vision and consciousness returned, the pain in Cato's face paled in comparison with the crushing pain lancing through his head. He felt like he was spinning; dazed and uncollected as he looked dimly around the collection of apprentices. Why? Something…

He had to concentrate.

About... elves.

He hurt.

So _badly._

He tried to shake his head, but a hand was holding it upright, letting the blood drain so he didn't choke or drown. A film of blood cracked over his lips.

Focus.

Somewhere behind him, wherever he was, Cato heard a high squeal of metal. He quivered, and let out a soft whine from his throat, the only thing he could manage to do when he found his hands tied behind his back with something sturdy.

The metallic sound continued until a cart wheeled into view, and Cato's breathing quickened.

Scalpels. Pins. Forceps. Tears sprang back into his eyes and he tried to recoil. Scissors. Tweezers. A probe with a curved end.

And rows and rows of dead rats, each nestled into their own wax-bottomed tray, waiting to be dissected.

"Look at him. What a coward. Not even a rattus, more like a mouse. I can't believe we'll let a little shit like him join our military," someone hissed, the voice sounding garbled and distant to Cato's pounding head.

"Every army needs cannon fodder."

"He'll defect before he even gets through training. Rattus just love the Qun. Being told what to do is in their nature."

"Shut up," someone demanded. Ferret. Cato tried to read back but the hand in his hair held him steady. "I need to concentrate. You- help me get this off of him. Rats don't wear clothes."

Ferret started rolling up Cato's sleep gown when Cato lashed out and kicked at the apprentice's face in panic. The idea of being exposed to these boys was horrifying enough without the piles of tools to poke and cut and prick him just an arm's length away.

Ferret caught Cato's foot in one hand and held it out by his ankle. He reached for a pin and held it at eye level, looking past it and into Cato's round, wet eyes.

"Are you going to stop or are these going under your toenails?" Ferret asked. He held the pin and foot high enough that Cato's leg hurt from the stretch for a beat in emphasis before dropping both; the foot to the ground and the pin back in its jar with the others. Cato curled back and pressed his legs hard together, but remained still. "That's what I thought."

Ferret and the apprentice continued, rolling the sleep gown up and over his head (the hands on him releasing for only a moment) and it gathered and tangled around Cato's bound hands.

One of the other apprentices lifted a pair of scissors for the try. "Should I cut that off of him?"

"The gown? Don't bother. But he doesn't need his pants. The cuffs too," Ferret instructed, and the apprentice stepped forward without needing to hear another word. He clipped through the sides of Cato's smallclothes, Cato motionless and watching in whale-eyed terror at the blades near his skin. Careful not to squirm or fight back, lest they cut him (either on accident or purpose, it didn't matter). Only when the scissors and the last vestiges of his clothes were pulled away did he curl his legs up over his belly protectively. His sobs were soft and jagged and choking.

Last came the cuffs, delayed by the apprentice who couldn't figure out how to slide the plates apart until another stepped in. Cato keened again, scrunching his face as the boy undid the small clasp and let them fall away.

"Elgh! What's _wrong_ with him?" The exposed ear was pinched and twisted, making him yelp in pain. They released him and let the ear dangle at the side of Cato's head, limp and shapeless and folded like a hound's.

"He's not old enough for his ears to stand up yet, genius."

"And how do you know?"

"My family has slaves that young and younger back home. Got to train them early or they get lazy and spoiled."

"Pretty pathetic," someone said skeptically. "Is he really a Fen'Rhea? I know they're elves but I was still expecting..."

"No, that's just how they are. Don't believe their reputation, it's all empty words. They aren't- oh Maker, would someone please shut him up? His crying is driving me insane."

"Aw," Ferret said, returning in front of Cato from where he had stepped to the side and squared himself to him. "I think it sounds really sweet."

Don't cry, _don't cry._ He swallowed, trying to tamp down the noise that seemed to spill out of him like breath.

"Oh, don't be like that. I want to hear you."

Cato's breath caught again, stuck inside, and his lungs frozen. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't…

Ferret slapped him hard across the cheek, startling a wail of pain out of him when the force of it pulled harshly at his hair. Cato panted.

"There you go. Don't want you passing out on me again, not with that nasty little bump on your head. You might not wake back up next time," Ferret said, the words twisted into false concern. "But if you're really worried about being too loud, I'm sure I can help you with that."

Cato could only watch on in disoriented fear as Ferret turned back to the tray of supplies. His hand stretched out and hovered over the tools, each one glinting with malice and more potential for harm than the last. He moved the hand slowly, taunting as he passed over each tool more than once and feigned picking one up a few times to make Cato flinch. Finally, he made his selected and lowered his hand.

His fingers curled around one of the rats.

"Who has the gauze wrap?" Ferret asked, picking up the rat corpse and bringing it to his chest. He pretended to pet it while someone fetched a roll of thin woven linen that looked like it was snagged from a first aid kit. "Thank you. Now, you remember what I said earlier?"

Cato stayed silent, stunned and confused.

"About how rattus are only worth what they can fit in their clever little mouth?"

Ferret stepped closer, dropping the carcass to his side and reaching for Cato's face.

"Open up."

No. _No._ Cato screamed between his clenched teeth, thrashing as Ferret approached in spite of his survival instincts. Ferret's hand came to his mouth, trying to wrench his jaw open and struggled against Cato's tight lips fiercely clenched shut. He still screamed in his throat, breath rushing out of his nose and speckling Ferret's hand with a fresh flow of blood.

He curled his legs back up and went back to kicking, managing to catch Ferret in the gut and once between the legs and making him stagger back with a grunt before he crowded too close to get a good hit in. Cato continued to squirm and jerk but was barely able to knee Ferret's side before the hand was back on his face.

"What did I say about kicking?" Ferret gritted out, trying to hold Cato down alongside the hand in his hair. He scratched at Cato's lips and Cato finally opened his mouth, only to bite four of Ferret's fingers viciously. "Fuck!"

Cato shook his head, teeth still clamped hard and grinding against the bones in Ferret's hand as the apprentice screamed. Cato's terror fluttered and roosted in his chest, suspended from the ability to fight back and do something, and from exhaustion and a strange numbness that allowed him to act. It was just long enough for him to feel angry and a sharp, bright joy at how the older boy howled in pain.

It didn't last. The nails on his tongue gouged and curled, hooking over Cato's jaw and slowly prying it open now that Ferret had a grip on him. Cato gave a final scream, cut off as Ferret pushed his hand in further with the opportunity.

Ferret scrambled closer, bringing the rat in his other hand closer to Cato's face. It was stiff and smelled wrong and caustic and made Cato gag as Ferret held it against his cheek.

"Get ready," Ferret warned to the apprentice behind him. He wrenched down on the jaw, opening it as wide as he could, before stuffing the rat into the narrow gap above his fingers, head peeking out one end and tail peeking out the other.

Cato immediately recoiled, caught between trying to push the dead thing out of his mouth with his tongue and trying not to touch it at all. He let his jaw open as it was pushed in. The feeling on his teeth biting down on the cold, stiff fur made him gag and retch, his screams muffled as Ferret pushed it deeper still.

"Come on, now," Ferret urged, and the apprentice flanking him darted forward, winding the gauze around Cato's face to gag him. He tied the gauze off as Cato continued wailing. He could feel the outlines of bone- the ridge of its small spine digging into his pinned tongue. It was an effective gag. Thick and heavy and horrifying enough that Cato grew quiet, still and blank. The only sound he made as he stared forward, unfocused, was the wet rattle of blood as he breathed heavily through his nose, his blood still draining slowly.

Ferret leaned back, inspecting his work proudly. "Smug little rattus like you needs to remember how it feels to be stuffed. Get you used to what you're good at instead of giving you delusions of grandeur." He leaned forward, grasping Cato's head from under his jaw and turning his face up to look him in the eye. "You can thank me later for the reminder, since your mouth is occupied right now."

The hand under his chin moved into his hair, pulling him out of the chair. Cato tumbled forward, not expecting to be dragged and not able to brace himself with his hands. "But you still need to be put in line after that stunt. You can't bite your master and get away with it like that. You know what happens to rattus who turn on their master like that? They cut your throat and use your life to summon something actually useful. That is, unless you're a servus publicus."

Ferret threw Cato's head down at the end of his words, boots clicking against the floor as he walked towards the other end of the room while Cato labored to breathe. He didn't notice when the clicking approached, his attention still consumed by the rat, so when Ferret threw down something that blotted out the light for a moment, Cato flinched, dazed.

He wiggled out from under what he found to be a broad, burlap sack. Coarse and plain. "If you're a servus publicus and the Circle owns you, they'll just kill you and stuff you in one of these. Throw you into a freezer for us to dissect in the advanced classes. Isn't that right?"

"Mhm," a voice hovering above Cato confirmed. "They'll stuff you in a bag and cut you open. If you're lucky, you're dead before you freeze to death in the iced chamber they hold all the bodies."

"Help me out here," Ferret asked, hoisting Cato by his arm. The apprentice Cato recognized from before- Andorus- lifted him up by his ankle, and another apprentice still held open the sack. Cato toppled inside artlessly, the opening heaved up and gathered close so he couldn't squirm out without also fighting gravity and the grip the apprentice had on it. He still fought to right himself, worming carefully with his bound hands so as to not crush the rat further against his mouth.

"He seems lonely in there!"

"What are you- oh. Oh! Haha, yes!"

Cato curled his legs up into a ball as the sack was opened for just a moment, slipping in a dark silhouette against the light from outside the burlap. A _rat._ They dropped another rat corpse in with him.

He wanted to be _gone._ Cato squeezed his eyes shut, his shrieking sobs smothered by fur.

They lowered the sack back to the floor before the first strike. Probably a kick- a solid, heavy strike that caught Cato in the side. He gagged with the burst of pain. Another kick planted on the small of Cato's back, and a third managed to hit squarely over the rat they had added to join him. In the dark he couldn't see the results, but he felt something cold on his bare skin where the rat had been, its fur now wet.

The dark inside the sack was momentarily interrupted by one of the boys adding another rat. In the brief span of time for the rat to fall, Cato saw the first one they had dropped in. It's side had been split open at the impact, a gross mess of organs half spilled out and dangling from its burst stomach, and one of it's eyes was missing. Likely bulged out from the same kick.

The sight twisted Cato's belly, and when he retched the bile gathered at the rat still in his mouth and seeped from the corners of his mouth. He thrashed hopelessly, mindlessly, disgusted and unable to think of anything but the wall of unmanageable desperation. He wanted out, he needed to live.

"Do another one, do another one!" someone said, excited. A collection of cruel laughter agreed, and Cato felt the bag lowered to the ground so another could be added.

But the next corpse never came.

"Shit. Did you see that?"

"See what?"

"Voyeur at the door. Hold on-" footsteps, and Cato held his breath. Please. _Please._ "Shit."

"What?"

The voice continued, this time more quiet, "Think I saw someone. I'm not taking any chances. You all can test your luck but I'm on thin ice after Calpernius."

"That's fine. I think the rattus has gotten the message," someone- Cato thought it was Ferret- whispered. "Help me tie this off."

More footsteps, and the grip the apprentice had on the sack choked up suddenly, the sack constricting and crushing the rats closer. Cato gave a final token struggle before the sack was released, dropping him to his side on the floor. Cato stilled, flinching as the pinholes of light between the weave of the burlap dimmed and died, and the apprentices made hushed small talk as they moved about the room and their footsteps gradually retreated.

Cato waited, ears straining for any step, any word that might herald the return of danger. He remained still. His breathing shallow, his body sore and tense. A short age passed before he shook himself, breaking from his trance like a drowning man breaching the sea.

What was he doing? He had to go, he had to _run_ , they'd come back, he had to get free or he'd _die_. He couldn't bear this again. _He had to go._

Cato worked out his bound hands when the tears returned, greater now in the relative peace without the fear of goading them into further torment. He tried to squirm his hands past the wrap clinging his wrists together, but it wasn't long before his sobbing had him doubled over, shaking and weak from the force of it. He curled tight in what little room he had left, pressing his brow into his knees as the adrenaline crashed down in one painful swoop.

And then he stopped. The pain from before felt suddenly distant and unimportant. He was going to go, he couldn't sit here and wait for them to return.

He did not think of what happened.

\--

"This hallway, dear?" 

Tertius nodded again. His fingers curled around his robes as he pulled her towards the door from before. As he ventured deeper into the north wing basement the blanket of familiar comfort descended over him once more, balancing out the rush of unease he had felt earlier to even.

"And why were you down here, again?" the dorm master asked skeptically.

Tertius knew well enough to lie, preferring to be thought of as stupid rather than lose the opportunity to keep coming back. "I got lost."

They arrived finally at the room Tertius remembered, but there were no lights. This didn't stop Tertius. He slipped in, ignoring his dorm master's suggestions that he might have gotten turned around again. He was sure…

Yes.

The soft rattle of wet breath slipped out behind the cracked door, and Tertius turned to look up at the dorm master like a hunting hound that had found something. 'See?' he wanted to say. 'I told you.'

But the drawn look on the dorm master's face made the words die in his throat. If an adult was looking like that, the noise might be a greater cause for concern than he expected. Maybe who or whatever had been in the bag was more dangerous that he had guessed from the older apprentice's apparent delight.

"Wait here," the dorm master commanded sternly, and as soon as he went in to investigate, Tertius did the only sensible thing and peeked around the frame of the door to see what was causing all the ruckus.

The dorm master had thrown his own magelight into the air, illumination the lumpy, squirming form of the sack Tertius had seen before. It stopped moving as soon as the light was cast, summoning up visions of a shadowy demon that feared the light, or some vicious but more mundane nocturnal creature whose eyes weren't meant for something so bright. His curiosity peaked.

Whatever it was, it was squeaking loudly.

The dorm master untied the sack's knot and recoiled.

"What in the name of the Maker's lands- boy, what are you doing here?" the dorm master demanded. "Who's your driver? You should be-... wait."

Tertius shivered, the squeaking growing louder. The dorm master pulled the sack lower, and Tertius could hear the squealing cries of a rat. 

"You're- oh, _vishante kaffas_."

Tertius watched silently as the dorm master pulled a bloody and beaten boy from the burlap, eyes set on the smear of gore against his skin. The squealing was lound, multiple, and at-odds with the still bodies of the rat in the boy's mouth and in the trays beyond him.

"Apprentice Danarius," the dorm master said, breaking him out of the entranced stupor the squealing left him in. "Get back to the dormitory."

The command was stern and urgent and the dorm master passed him, not looking back to see if Tertius obeyed. And he would, this was enough exploring for one night, but something called to him before that.

Tertius crept into the room after them, following the sound of the squeal to a lump still left in the sack. It smelled strange and foul, and Tertius was only willing to pick the sack up by its corner and empty its contents onto the floor. There he found the source of the squealing.

The crushed little corpse of a rat, insides spilling onto the floor beside it, remained still and _dead_ and _squealing_ on the floor of the room. The squeaks and squeals of it and the chorus of rats in their trays behind him were at first deafening until it grew lower and softer.

Until they were only distant, unplaceable whispers.


	9. The Seeds of Tragedy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: reference to past trauma (non-graphic), reference to violence (non-graphic)
> 
> Whew. After that last chapter I think we all need something a little more gentle. That's not to say this is all fluff, but it's a narrative breather and the begining of a beautiful... er...
> 
> "best-best-best friendship".
> 
> (Also Autumn, my original beta, is back and pretend-scowling at me for all the references I make in this to the last chapter.)

The seasons were changing.

Cato watched the apprentices out in the courtyard from the infirmary window, imagining the crunch of the brown leaves as they were trampled underfoot. This was his favorite time of year. They were too far north for autumn to last long. Most years the leaves would conspire to all fall at once and the trees would go from green to dead seemingly overnight, but this year had been mild and gradual, and the trees lining the grounds had melted into a medley of fiery colors.

He could see it all from his vantage point. It was a silver lining, he was told, when one of the healer's apprentices set a tray on his lap. It didn't much feel like one. Cato didn't bother to argue, just sipped the soup, feeling tired and sore.

They had let him stay in bed, bringing him enough blankets and pillows and sweets that he could nest comfortably, swaddled and sucking on the hard candies like a babe. He could ask for any food at any time, and was permitted to rest as much as he liked. And he liked sunning himself in the light from his window, his skin warmed and feeling like he was tucked into a cloud. When he was bored of drifting in a comfortable sort of trance, they even brought toys for him. Little puzzles and figures of animals to play with, his favorite being the dragon.

Another one of the healer's assistants even hugged him, which was strange, but in a nice way. When she pulled away, she was crying and Cato had the strangest feeling that it was over him. It made him feel vaguely guilty, but it was still nice.

"You know that wasn't right," she had said to him, hopeful or desperate.

Cato wasn't sure what she meant, but he was certain he didn't want to think about it. Things were nice. He had blankets. He had sugar. He could feel the sun. There was a dragon. This was fine.

He felt better than he did two nights ago when he had first arrived. He thought it was two nights ago. His sleep had been... bad lately. He didn't want to sleep; he fought against exhaustion tooth and nail, but when he tight-lipped refused the alchemist's draught that would help him sleep deeply, he guessed they started putting it into his food.

In any case, he felt better, but not _better_. The healer would ask him how he felt, would pull up his shirt and press carefully against the place in his side that he had been told had held a broken rib. With the healer's magic, the pain had lessened dramatically in the short time he had been in the infirmary wing, aching only when the healer pressed firm over the old injury.

The first two days he reported his pain honestly. Cato was grateful that he could breathe and move without the burst of agony he had first felt. But towards the end of the second night (what he thought was the second night), it occurred to him that he might be dismissed and sent back to the dormitories if he was declared well enough.

He did not want to be declared well enough. He wasn't well enough.

He did not want to return to his classes.

Cato didn't want to be seen in the halls or in other common areas, or asked of his absence or gather more notice or have to think about…

Cato didn't want to have to think. He felt tremendously sad, and despite the firm reassurance of the healer's apprentice every single time of the many times he asked if anyone had tried to get in, that the adults (titles he didn't remember, faces he didn't want to look into) stationed at the door would keep him safe…

He feared.

Cato hated the sleeping draught. If he slept without drugs to keep him under, he could simply wake up from what bad dreams he suffered.

"I'm sorry, but he's not taking visitors."

"Look at me. How many elvhen magisters do you think there are?" That voice. "I'm his mother."

They continued speaking, but Cato did not listen.

Cato sank lower into the cot, gathering up and hugging one of the heavier blankets they had given him. They'd let her in. He feared.

When Cato heard the door open he shut his eyes and tried to even his breathing, feigning sleep. They said he needed rest, maybe she wouldn't wake-

"Cato. Look at me."

A streak of anger burned through him. This wasn't fair, he wanted to be left alone, he wanted... the rage gave way to hopelessness as swift as it came, head slung low and cowering as he turned towards her.

"Look at me."

He didn't want to. He didn't want to. It hurt to raise his gaze up to meet hers. It made his insides squeeze and ache and twist to see her tired, entirely neutral face looking down at him, her single eye pinning him to the bed.

"The healer thinks you might be malingering," she said at last, breaking the heavy, horrible silence that smothered the room.

"What does that mean?" Cato asked, already knowing by the detached disappointment and the fact that someone thought he was doing it that it was probably bad.

"Faking. Specifically faking being sick or hurt," she explained. "Are you?"

Cato thought carefully before he spoke, trying to figure out what he was supposed to say. No? That way he wouldn't be caught lying. But it would be lying. But it also meant that he was still hurt, and that he wasn't a good Fen'Rhea. He was supposed to be strong. It was one thing for it to have happened, but another thing for it to have really been that bad. And, in a way, it was? But it was a strange type of hurt he couldn't place, one that the healer wouldn't know how to heal, Cato was sure.

But if he said yes, he'd be caught in a lie. But he wouldn't be lying now, to Tamas. But she'd want to know why, and he'd have to explain that he didn't want to go back to classes and face any of the other apprentices, or leave the tentative sanctuary the healer had arranged here.

Cato considered that more. But why not? It wasn't like he didn't want to go to classes- the books he had been delivered on the subjects he's missed had been one of the few comforts that's helped him feel better. It wasn't laziness.

It was fear. No, it wasn't fear. It was hurt, but a fear that hurt.

"I don't know," he said, voice cracking. He had to say something. Tamas was starting to look impatient. It couldn't possibly be a good enough answer. But he didn't understand any of this. He didn't know. He didn't know why. It was so confusing, and his head began to ache again. Or... did it? Was he imagining that like the pain? Was he faking that too?

He realized that he actually didn't know.

Tamas must have figured that out first, for as the gears in his head continued to turn and the confusion and worry and doubt only grew, she pulled close one of the healer's tall stools to sit next to his bedside, her legs crossed and stretched out lazily.

"What are you going to do now?" she asked, the same she would ask what book he was reading, or what game he and Aunny were playing.

"Huh?"

"Whoever did this to you is still out there. What are you going to do next? What have you learned?"

Cato sat, trying to think of the question, but his mind reacted to the memory of that night like touching a hot stove. He recoiled from the details, then from the people who were there, then from the night at all, preferring the relative peace and safety of where he was to trying to look any closer at what had happened. "What should I do?"

Tamas watched him silently after that for a few long beats. He eye blinks slowly, her mouth a slack, passive frown. Cato was beginning to think he wasn't going to get an answer when she finally broke the silence.

"I have a gift for you."

\--

Tertius wasn't going to test his luck. He spent the week after the strange incident with the rats in the dormitory at night, still reading by light of one of the library's glowing stones he had begged from the librarian. His staff buried under the bed and the words of the anatomy book soothing as he read under the tent of his blankets, the whispers were as quiet as they ever were while they were on Circle grounds.

He would give things time to blow over. There was a current of tension in the students since the elf boy's absence, those who participated in classes with him a mix of worry and crowing in delight.

"I heard he was taken."

"Taken? By who?"

"By what?"

"Could it take me, too? Or just elves?"

"He's been with the healers for days. No one comes or goes."

"They'd tell us if we weren't safe, right?"

"He had it coming," Quinto groused. The burn hadn't scarred, but he was still missing one of his eyebrows, and between the pain and the older apprentices relentlessly teasing him for the strange look, he didn't much hold the elf in high regard. "He's too dangerous to come here. He doesn't know how to control himself."

The rumors built up and up and ran rampant up to the point where the elf boy (Cato, he had been called. Familiar. From the boat?) returned, looking strange. Tertius had not remember seeing much of the elf, barely on the fringe of his concern in the grand scheme of things, but the children in his dorm hall all wondered at the listless way he seemed to go about now, and that his eyes often focused on nothing in the middle distance.

When asked for an explanation, Tertius heard he had simply said, "I don't want to talk about it."  
From there, the rumors exploded truly in earnest.

"I think he's possessed. A sloth spirit, definitely."

"That's really young though! Can we get possessed this young?"

"No, we can't. That's dumb."

"Well he can already use more magic than normal, just ask Quinto. Maybe elves are different like that?"

Tertius really didn't care. He was preoccupied with his own troubles; he wouldn't waste energy entertaining gossip about something no one knew anything about anyway. That and it was a lot more boring when you couldn't readily offer your own opinions.

No, Tertius was preoccupied with the memory of the rat's squealing. Dead rats. Making noise. The noise that was the whispers.

It was very concerning.

He knew well enough that he couldn't go sneaking off until things had settled down more, and the time he had during the day between classes and napping was scarce. When he could spare the time he wandered the rows in the library, unsure where to even begin even with this new insight into what was happening to him. Or what he was doing. 

Whatever was going on.

In the meantime, he whiled away his time, sitting through class as they repeated the same thing he had understood the first time for the hundredth. Between classes and the library, Tertius maintained his visits to Stardust, her company one of the few things that kept him from misery. She would come to him on sight, her whiskered lips nibbling gently at his ponytail and brushing his cheek like a real kiss. If she still liked him, than whatever strange curse the squealing rats signified must not be all that terribly bad. Still, he couldn't help but be relieved that he wasn't hearing nickers and whinnies from the horses in the stable as they slept.

Sometimes, when he was resting with his back to Stardust's broad side and the sun warm and lulling him to catch up on the sleep he still chose to forgo at night, his mind would drift back to the rat. Even in its messy, split state, a strange, absurd question still lingered in his mind, flickering like a trick of the light that made shadows and shapes in the dark into monsters.

Had the rat been dead? The more he looked back and tried to remember, the more alive it felt.  
He knew it had to be dead. It was obviously dead.

But.

It felt alive.

He turned, burying his face into Stardust's shoulder, her thickening coat comfortable and distracting.

\--

The elf's return signaled to Tertius nothing more than an indication that it was safe to go prowling at night again. He gave it a few more days for things to settle down, just to be safe, and then slipped out of bed and into the night.

He would give the naturalist's lab a wide berth for some time still, unnerved at the prospect of actually having to face the whispers in its solemn halls even as he was determined to find out more about his new discovery. He'd go to the library, Tertius decided, just as he was at the crossroads choice between the labs and his destination.

He realized his mistake when he arrived. The librarian peered down at him over her desk, carefully reaching out with the blunt hook of her staff's end and nudged Tertius' hand away when he went to reach for one of the glowing rocks.

"You already have one, Apprentice Danarius. I should hope you haven't already lost it."

Tertius shied. She didn't seem angry, though. Tertius thought that perhaps she liked him, being so young and still scurrying about underfoot in her domain. Most of the apprentices in the library at this hour were much older. "N-no. It'sss back at the dorms."

"The dorms aren't far away, child. It'll teach you to not forget things that you've borrowed."

Tertius resisted the urge to pout. They were right there. But Tertius didn’t argue; he knew she wouldn’t be swayed. And she was right, it wasn't that far away.

He made his way back to the dorms, only briefly having the time to grump at the delay, when he rounded the corner and toppled into a pile of bedding.

The bedding screamed.

Tertius did the only logical thing to do when a pile of bedding surprises you with a scream and toppled back, tripping onto his rear and screaming right back at it.

The bedding screamed again and seemed to burst into the air, revealing the elf- Cato, Tertius placed quickly- carrying it. Cato scrambled, back, eyes wild and flashing as elf eyes do in the dark.

He produced a massive knife from his robes, holding it extended and pointed towards Tertius as soon as his fumbling hands managed a proper grip on it.

Tertius screamed again, because that's what one does when one is five and surprised with a really big knife. The noise made Cato startle, jumping up to his toes and shaking the knife as if reminding Tertius he had it (as if Tertius could forget). There they remained, both puffing for air and frozen in fear of the other, like two cats with their backs arched, surrounded by bedsheets and blankets.

"What are you doing here?" Cato asked, motioning slightly with the tip of the knife. His jaw jut out defiantly, arms locked straight in front of him.

"What-t-t are yyyou d-..oing here?" Darn. His stutter was nearly gone when he read to himself or Stardust, or mouthed the words to himself under his sheets, but it was always worse when he was surprised or upset. Or, apparently, when someone was threatening him with a knife.

Cato's brow knit, and the belligerent look on his face faltered. "I asked you first."

"Ssso?"

This didn't seem to be going how the elf expected. His tense shoulders dropped, and his expression flattened into annoyance. "So I have a really sharp dagger and I'm gonna cut you with it so you have to do what I say and I say to tell me why you're here."

Tertius considered that for a moment, when the sharp smell of something first hit his nose. What was-?

Oh.

"Did yyyou wet th-the bed?"

Cato straightened, lowering the knife with a stricken look. He quickly raised it again, red blooming bright over his cheeks even as he denied it. "No!"

"Yyyou did! You wh-wet the b-...bed!" Tertius accused. He leaned over to the nearest bedsheet from where he sat and pulled at it carefully. Sure enough, a dark wet blotch spread over the sheet. Tertius smiled, delighted. "Yyyou-"

"I didn't! I-" Cato said, voice cracking into a squeak on the word. The knife shook slightly right before it dropped, dangling loosely in one hand to Cato's side. Cato's shoulders began to hitch, and with his other hand he rubbed at his eyes. "I had a bad dream," he explained, the bravado gone. "Please don't tell anyone. Please?"

The smile dropped off Tertius' face. Cato was pathetic, and while he didn't have many opportunities to make fun of someone more pitiful than himself as was the pecking order in the Circle, Tertius suddenly found the opportunity less appealing now that he was presented with it. "Wasss it about r-rats?"

Cato stared, face no longer screwed up in shame but open in shock.

"I w-was the one who saw you down there and got the d-dorm master. I think you were asssleep when we got you out, but the f-...first time you were... in a bag. Ssso I don't think you saw me," Tertius explained hastily, his stutter releasing its grip as he grew more confident in being the one with the power here. "But I saw a little. I sssaw the rats."

"Did you tell anyone?" Cato asked urgently.

"No. And I w-won't," Tertius said. He had an idea, and he smiled wickedly at the elf with the knife. "I won't tell about that and I won't tell anyone you w-wet the bed if you be my best friend."

Whatever Cato was expecting, it hadn't been that. His strained, worried face turned momentarily flabbergasted.

And then, to Tertius' surprise, he actually considered it. Looked Tertius over carefully, then down to the knife at his side, reflection flashing in the dim light of the hall. And then he looked back up to Tertius with a shrug.

"Okay," Cato agreed.

"W-wait, okay?" Now it was Tertius' turn to be flabbergasted. "I sssaid best friends. Better than any of your other friends, like your f-favorite friend. Your bestie-best friend!"

"Yeah, I don't got any friends. Well, I have Aun. He's my brother. But he can just be my brother, cos that's different. So you can be my best friend, sure." Cato nodded in agreement, his own shy smile on his face. He added thoughtfully, "Course since I only have the one friend you'd be my best and least best- er, worst- friend too. That okay?"

Tertius considered that. "W-well, if you make another friend, will I keep being your best friend? Because I was here f-first so that's how it should work."

"Yeah, that sounds fair," Cato agreed, glancing around the corner and behind him down the corridor he came from before sliding his knife back into his robes. "I don't think I'm gonna make another friend though. Most of the other apprentices are stupid or mean or both."

"Right?" Tertius agreed, scrambling up to his feet. He felt suddenly excited, bubbly at the thought that his plot had worked, and he cunningly tricked Cato into best friendship. He must be terribly crafty and never knew it. "Good! Great! It's sssettled!"

"Okay, but I gotta pick all this up now," Cato said, starting to bundle the nearest sheet up into his arms. "I gotta get this to the laundry room before morning so no one sees, and then I was going to go to the baths cos I feel all dirty cos of it. Oh, hey!"

"Huh?"

"You know what a best friend would do when his best friend needed help taking laundry to the laundry room?"

Tertius blinked, and then scrunched his nose in dismay. "Ew, but you p-peed on it! That's gross."

"Yeah, but you're my best friend!" Cato whined. "Friends help friends, right?"

"Yeah," Tertius agreed, dubiously.

"Especially best friends?"

Tertius made an unhappy noise. "Fffine. But we are definitely best-best-best friends after this."

"For sure," Cato agreed, earnest and smiling.

Tertius liked his smile. He decided it was worth it. Pee and all.

(It was still gross, and his nose remained wrinkled and tongue sticking out all throughout helping Cato gather up the linens.)

"You know the laundry room is that way," Tertius said after they both hand their armsful of laundry. He motioned back down the hall with his head. "Did you get lost? Is that how they got yyyou, down in the basement?"

"I don't want to talk about that now," Cato said, his now cheery mood starting to sour again by the tone of his voice.

"But we're best-"

"I'll talk about it later, okay?" Cato interrupted, sharp and irritable. When he continued, it was softer, almost apologetic. "I just don't want to right now. It's already dark and kinda... I just don't like the dark."

"Scared?"

"I just don't like it. And those apprentices could be out, so I have to be ready to stick 'em!" Cato declared, running lunging forward with his arms full of blanket in tandem with his words. He paused, looking over his shoulder at Tertius while he caught up. "'Stick 'em' means push my dagger into them by the point. Tamas told me that. Oh! Tamas means-"

"Mother. I know. We met on the boat, remember?"

Cato looked at him, head tilted. "Huh?"

"You said- ah, never mind. It's okay. That was a long time ago, like months!"

"Hey, what's your name?" Cato asked suddenly.

"Gaius Tertius Danarius."

"Danarius... hey! I think your pa is the magister that represents the district next to my tamas'!"

"Yeah, that's him," Tertius said slowly, his own mood souring.

Cato continued, oblivious. "That's great. We'll grow up best friends and then when we're in the Senate we can sit next to each other and-"

"I don't get to be a m-magister," Tertius grumped. "I'm third born."

"Oh. Oh yeah, 'Tertius'. That's Arcanum for 'third', isn't it?"

"Uh huh," Tertius said flatly.

"Wow," Cato said, snorting. "Your mama named you 'number three'. That's... I guess it's easy to remember?"

Tertius managed a weak laugh. "Yeah."

"Ah, being a magister's probably going to be no fun anyway. Tamas always said she liked back before she had to do it more, when she was in Seheron. And sometimes you want something that other people don't like, like you vote for something when other people want another thing, or sometimes they just don't like you... and they think you shouldn't be there. And they... send people. To try and hurt you. Because they think you shouldn't be there."

Tertius watched as Cato's words grew slower and more distant, his focus drifting. "Hey!"

He snapped back to attention. "Huh?"

"What's Cato mean? Is it elven for something?"

"Oh. No, I don't think so. I think it's just one of those names that are just a name." Cato grinned. "I wouldn't mind being named 'number one' though."

"Laundry's this way," Tertius reminded him, motioning again with his head.

"Oh yeah."

"Do you got a bad sense of direction or something?"

"No, I was just distracted."

"Were you distracted earlier?" Tertius pried.

Cato grumbled. "I was trying to look out for the apprentices that got me before. Tamas visited me when I was in the infirmary. We made a plan, in case they came back. She said they probably would, and gave me my knife."

They filed into the laundry room, wide wicker baskets with a slate tied into their weaves lined the walls on their left and right. The two of them piled the bedding into the largest basket, and Cato wrote his name and age on the slate in chalk before pushing it to the chutes across the room, having to slide it across the floor with how big it was in comparison to his own body.

"What was the plan?" Tertius asked, watching as Cato pushed it the final stretch and onto the slide to be delivered down to the laundry slaves below.

Cato turned to him, smiling. "I was supposed to go for their eyes or their tummies or right between their legs!" Cato bragged, miming the stabbing in air as a demonstration. He straightened, chin high. "Tamas says that you should always fight dirty if they're bigger than you."

"Huh," Tertius said. "I'm glad you didn't do that to me. I like to draw so I need my eyes."

Cato looked at him in confusion, and then hopped as if something just occurred to him. "Oh! Oh, no! Hey, can you keep a secret?"

"You're my only friend too, so probably."

Cato glanced around again, craning his head to the door just to make sure he was alone, before leaning in and whispering, "My knife? It's a special knife, since I'm not supposed to have weapons yet. It just looks like a knife, but really it's just enchanted to make people think they've been cut. It's like the etrop... etno..."

"Entropy." Tertius was surprised he could say something that someone else couldn’t for a change. Thinking back, he wondered at how his stutter had gradually retreated too.

"Entropy! Entropy magic. That. It's enchanted with that."

"That's really neat! Can I see it again?" Tertius urged, snapping back to attention. He liked enchanted items, and this one sounded extra impressive.

Cato nodded and procured the knife once more from his robes, holding it carefully between them (this time not pointing it at Tertius).

Tertius edged in with excitement, eager to see what an enchantment like that felt like up close. It had to be something powerful! But when presented with the actual knife, his excitement slowly faded away into confusion.

"This isn't enchanted," he accused, pouting in disappointment.

"Yeah it is," Cato assured him.

"It doesn't feel enchanted, and that one sounds really complicated so it probably should."

"Well it is, 'cause my tamas said it was. Maybe it's just enchanted really well so it doesn't feel like it is, so people will be more scared of it!"

"No, I think it's just a knife," Tertius insisted. He looked up when he heard Cato huff to see his pinched, unhappy face. Tertius tried to continue to appease his new friend. "It's a nice knife, though! The handle is really pretty where the leather part is."

"Tamas said it was enchanted, and she wouldn't lie."

Tertius scrunched his face thoughtfully, and then took the knife. Ignoring Cato's yelp of objection, he turned the knife's edge up and bent down to gather up the corner of his own robes and cut a few inches of the fabric. He lifted the fraying hem and the knife to eye level and looked back at Cato, Tertius' knees bare as his robe was shucked up.

"I don't know. It cuts like a knife," Tertius said, dubiously. "Pretty sure it's a knife."

He handed it back to Cato, who took it with a drawn, unsure face. When he held it, it was more careful, and when he spoke his lips were turned down sharply, distraught. "Maybe it works like a regular knife to everyone else? Tamas said I wasn't supposed to let anyone else have it. Or maybe she accidentally gave me the wrong one?"

He looked up at Tertius, unhappy. "But I'm supposed to go for the eyes."

Tertius shrugged. "Still can."


	10. The Fox and the Stork

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: Reference to child abuse and past trauma, casual racism
> 
> Thank you to my beta, Autumn. These are getting longer and she's unspeakably helpful!

"So, what do you want to do?"

Tertius paused where he was sitting, sliding off his boots and into the little cubby holes lining the wall of the bathing rooms. He was having such a good time having a friend that he had quite nearly begged to come with Cato the the baths, and Cato welcomed him eagerly. It occured to him only when they arrived that Cato was still preparing for the swarm of the apprentices who had last abducted him. They arrived at the room with the running pool, and Cato scanned the few other apprentices already there with sharp eyes. If that was the case, Tertius decided, then he was more than happy to come with him. No one would bother harassing Tertius- it was hardly worth the effort- so if things went wrong he could run to fetch a patrolling prefect.

"What do you mean?"

"Like, a job. If you aren't going to be a magister."

"Oh. My job's to not be an embarrassment," Tertius said.

Cato snorted. "I'm serious."

"So am I?"

"Oh... well, do you want to have another job?" Cato asked, obviously a bit unprepared for Tertius' candid answer. That was his only duty: 'Don't get into trouble'. Tertius didn't blame Cato for not understanding; his eldest brother Cyprian probably didn't realize what Palermo and Tertius were expected to do either, and they were brothers.

But now it was time for Tertius to be unprepared. "I... don't know. I hadn't ever thought about it. I forgot that I was supposed to do something."

"Yeah? Well, you might not be a magister, but that just means you get to have a lot of free time to pick something else to do. That's pretty nice, at least."

"I suppose," Tertius said, gathering his underrobe over his head and rolling it up with his robes. "How am I supposed to pick, though?"

"Dunno," Cato admitted. Tertius sighed, stuffing his clothes into one of the cubbies. He wouldn't know. He gets to be a magister. "What do you like to do, though? I should know; that's definitely best friend stuff."

"That's true," Tertius agreed. Now that he had a friend, he ought to do it proper. "I like... horses. And drawing. I'm good at drawing. Uh... I like red, but I don't think you can make up a job out of liking the color red. I like inside stuff."

"Inside stuff?" Cato asked, stuffing his own clothes into a cubby next to Tertius'.

"You know, stuff inside you," Tertius explained. When Cato's head tilted in confusion, he remembered seeing the illustration of inside the cat for the first time and realized he had to clarify further. "Things like bones and organs."

"Organs?" Cato wondered.

Tertius motioned over his bare belly in a sweeping gesture. "Yeah, organs. Like the stomach and the kidneys and the liver and stuff."

"Oh, entrails!" Cato said emphatically. His comprehension seemed to click. "Guts and stuff!"  
"Yeah, but guts are here," Tertius explain, pointing below where his stomach would have been in the pictures he looked at. "And I like stuff all over, like up here with the lungs and-"

"And the heart? Is the heart an organ?"

"Yeah, like that. You got it!"

Cato's head tipped back thoughtfully. "Huh. That's pretty neat, I guess. Tamas always tells stories about guts and stuff being spilled on the battlefield. Maybe you should be a soldier, like me!"

"Maybe," Tertius said, skeptically. "But I don't want to hurt anyone..."

"Well you wouldn't, you'd just be killing oxmen, with me! We can fight together while I'm at Seheron so we can still grow up and work with each other, least until I have to go be a magister."

"I don't know. I don't think my papa would like that, anyway," Tertius said, deciding that he didn't want to reveal to his new friend that he was still not keen on killing even oxmen. They had just become best-best friends, so he didn't want to pick a fight so soon, especially knowing that Cato seemed more than willing to step up to being challenged, if the knife was any indication.

And it was true. His papa had always spoken of the soldiers in Seheron with vague disdain. When Palermo had joined the Imperial Navy they had fought, his papa slinging shame like a trebuchet against his brother's drunken defiance.

("If you didn't want me to do something with my life, perhaps _you_ should have made an effort to do something with it, or not burden me with it at all!" Palermo had snarled, and a bottle of Pavali had smashed against the ground almost prettily.

It had been the only time Tertius had seen his brother anything but properly dutiful and compliant, and the words stuck hard.)

"What about a butcher?" Cato tried, stepping out of his smallclothes with a furtive, nervous glance around the baths.

Tertius snorted. "I think he'd like that even less. He wouldn't want me to sell things in a shop like that, he'd call it 'beneath' us."

"That's dumb. Tamas says that I have to respect everyone who I buy things from," Cato explained, looking superior. "She says 'someone's gotta do it, so you should be grateful that it's not-'... huh. Maybe we should figure out something else."

Tertius laughed at his friend's (his friend, oh he liked that!) sheepish expression, but his glee turned into fascination when Cato began unclipping and sliding off his ear cuffs. Tertius had never seen ears like that- they crumpled and folded, looking soft and almost dainty.

"Why do your ears look like that?" he asked, not thinking. Tertius regretted it the moment Cato reared his head, eyes sliding away uneasily. "Sssorry. That's rude. I just think they look neat. Can I touch them?"

"No!" Cato snapped, curling his lip in irritation. "They're normal. Or... at least they will be. They're a little late, but elf ears don't always stand up right away. These-" he said, motioning with the cuffs- "are supposed to help them do that though. They just need more time."

Tertius shrank. "Oh. Sorry. That's too bad though. I think they look really nice like that."

Cato remained leery, tilting his head with skepticism. "Nice?"

"Yeah, they're special! I haven't seen anyone with ears like that, not even other elves."

Cato seemed to be coming around, cautious but willing. One of his ears even flicked, pricking forward where it met the side of his head and swinging loosely. It looked, in Tertius' modest opinion, really cute. "Special's something," he mumbled. "You don't think they look gross and all... doughy?"

Tertius watched his friend pluck at the tips. They were a bit shapeless and puffy, and the cuffs kept the skin peachy-pale and... yes... a little doughy looking. But Tertius meant what he said. "I like them. They're floppy like a dog’s ears can be floppy."

"I'm not a dog!" Cato grumped.

"What? I didn't-... I _like_ dogs," Tertius reasoned, feeling bad that was taken poorly. He did. Not as much as horses, but dogs were fine.

Cato pouted for a moment longer- or at least pretended to pout, Tertius realized as Cato stuck his tongue out playfully. "I'm a wolf," Cato corrected him, chest puffed out proudly. He turned to Tertius, a glint in his eye. "A vicious badger-wolf from Seheron! And I'm gonna... drag you back to my den!"

Cato latched upon his arm, suddenly growling absurdly and he pulled Tertius towards the edge of the baths and into the water. Tertius trudged along, nose scrunched as his friend pulled him farther into the waters. When they were waist-high, Cato seemed to notice his puzzled expression and stopped, letting him go and returning the expression with equal confusion.

"What are you doing?" Tertius asked.

"I'm... playing pretend?" Cato's shoulders drooped. "Do you not do that? Me and Aun do it a lot."

"Oh." Tertius had seen other children running around like wild animals before; he just hadn't expected something that seemed so... kiddish to come from Cato, who he judged to be much more mature, like him. Tertius had played at pretending back at the estate, but his papa had passed through the foyer where he was playing and called it 'undignified', telling him to stop behaving like a creature. He had only tried it once since then. He tried being a pony with Stardust, but deemed Stardust to be much better at it than him, and he didn't much care for the taste of grass. "I haven't with another person. But I could try."

"Yeah! What are you going to be? I like being a badger-wolf. That's what 'Fen'Rhea' means. They're these big, hulking, super strong, super smart wolves from Seheron that could fight a bear and a dragon and bite off their whole head! Usually Aun's the bear and dragon. He likes being the dragon more but he's a much better bear, and our nanny said he needed to stop jumping on the chairs and throwing things, which is how we knew he was flying and breathing fire when he's a dragon. He tried being a bear that breathes fire, but that's dumb. But you can be a dragon if you want! I trust you to say when you're breathing fire and flying. Aun likes to cheat."

The excitement in Cato's voice was infectious, even as unsure as Tertius was in all this baby stuff. He smiled. "I bet that's the only way he could win."

Cato laughed, a sound that made Tertius' heart feel glowy and nice. "Uh huh!"

"Can I be a horse?" Tertius asked, tentative.

"Yeah that's fine! I'll hunt you down and you have to get away so I don't eat you, how's that?"

Tertius considered this, face scrunched in thought. "I don't want you to have to eat me, though. Can't we be a horse and a wolf that are friends?"

"Badger-wolf. And yeah, I guess that'll work. We don't have to pretend like real animals, we can be on the same side, like in the fables."

"You like fables?" Tertius asked, delighted.

It turned out to be something else they had in common other than friendlessness and a suspicion of the other apprentices. Cato's favorite had been 'The Fox and the Stork,' while Tertius favored 'The Tortoise and the Hare' more. He had mentioned the one about the gryphon and the nug, where the little nug helped the gryphon when he had a thorn stuck in his paw, and ended up telling Cato the whole thing when he revealed he had never heard it before.

All throughout the story, Cato scrubbed himself in the current of water. He took the oils at the edge of the bath and worked them into his skin by himself, politely dismissing the bath slave that approached him for service. Tertius paused the story as he watched and tilted his head. "Why don't you want the slave to help you?"

"I don't know," Cato said, shrugging and watching as the slave retreated to offer his services to another apprentice. That one accepted, presenting his body for the slave to massage in the oil and scrape it off, along with the sweat and dirt, with a blunt, curved strigil. "I mean, I can wash myself, it's not hard. I don't need anyone else to help me."

"Well, neither do they," Tertius reasoned, nodding to the older apprentices enjoying the attention. "They don't need the help, but they don't have to do it themselves either, so they don't. And besides, the part where they rub your muscles feels really nice."

"I don't know. Isn't is weird that they're all elves?"

"Who?"

"The slaves," Cato clarified.

Tertius looked at his friend. "No? What else would they be? Qunari?"

"Humans."

Tertius considered that, brow furrowed. He did know there were some human slaves, but they were rare and often plenty more expensive. "Why would the Circle bother getting human slaves? The elves do everything well enough; they don't need them to do anything that fancy."

"I just don't get it. My tamas has as many human slaves as she does elvhen. And did you know there is only _one_ other elf in the whole school? It's so weird."

"That's not weird, your tamas is weird. Most slaves are elves and they're a lot cheaper than humans. Usually you only get a human slave when you need them to do something that elves can't, like writing and maths and stuff," Tertius explained. Hearing that Cato's tamas owned many human slaves was as curious as it was impressive. That would be a lot of money to invest in higher-quality slaves. What was she having them do?

Cato whined in his throat. "Elves can write and do maths! You just saw me write my name not even an hour ago, and I can count all the way up to one hundred, easy!"

"Well, you're not a slave," Tertius pointed out.

Cato pouted. "How come you know about all this stuff?"

"My papa breeds slaves. He has a whole bunch and they have babies and the babies sell for a lot because we only buy _incaensor_ so they have lots of magic in their pedigree. Papa said he'd like to buy a human mage to use as a stud because then all the babies would be human too and sell for a lot more, but he didn't want anyone to think they were his bastards, so they have to all be elves," Tertius explained, then paused. "...why are you mad?"

It was true, the longer Tertius had spoken, the more cross Cato seemed to become, his mouth screwing up in a irritated scowl. When asked, though, it melted into something more unsure and troubled. Cato shrugged. "Dunno. It doesn't feel good."

"Why?"

Cato simply shrugged again, and Tertius felt bad until Cato gave him a crooked smile. "I bet we have so many humans for slaves because my tamas wants to show off how much money we have when we have guests over. All our slaves do the same kind of thing because she knows elves can do everything just as good."

Tertius wasn't sure about his friend's reasoning, but he was pleased that his friend was no longer sad.

They finished washing off in the running baths, dirt and grime draining away to be cleansed somewhere deep in the bowels beneath the Circle, and moved to the steaming hot baths, skipping the entire way there as they shivered in the cooler air. The hot baths were still and wafting as they slid in, a layer of frothy bubbles from some special soaps coating the surface.

Cato rested his chin on the rocky edge of the baths, eyes sliding shut and sighing pleasantly. "Thanks."

"For what?" Tertius asked. He sprawled next to Cato, sitting on the rocky steps beneath the water's surface and stretching out comfortably. The water was just a shade too hot, turning both of them cherry-red, but they'd get used to it.

For a long time, Cato said nothing. Then, "For getting the dorm master."

It took a second for Tertius to figure out what he was talking about. "Oh, yeah. You're welcome."

Cato's eyes opened, and he slid up so his arms folded on the lip of the bath. He pillowed his head on his arms, face turned to Tertius. "Can I ask a question?"

"Yeah."

"Why did you talk like that earlier?" Cato asked, his ear perking slightly in interest. Not as much as an elf with a regular ear might- there wasn't enough structure there to lift it- but enough to show that he was listening.

Tertius shrugged. "I have a stutter sometimes. It's getting better."

"A stutter," Cato repeated, evidently not familiar with the word. "How come you have a stutter?"

Tertius opened his mouth to reply, then paused. Instead, he offered, "I'll tell you how I got it if you tell me what happened in the basement."

"Never mind," Cato grumbled, ready to give up.

"Wait! I'll tell you if..." Tertius thought, lifting his hand out of the water to tap on his chin like he's seen people do when they're thinking hard. "If you let me touch your ears."

"Why do you want to touch my ears so bad? That's weird," Cato asked, voice cracking slightly as it rose in confusion. But he didn't sound angry or annoyed, at least, so Tertius pressed on.

"They just look neat. They look soft. It's not as weird as _having_ ears like that, even if they are really nice."

Cato tilted his head, considering the offer. "Alright," he conceded, scooting over and presenting his swinging ear. "Just don't pinch them or anything, that hurts."

Tertius held one between his index finger and thumb, rolling it as gently as he could in wonder. "They're squishy! They're so soft and squishy! Do those big ear things that you wear hurt them?"

"Not really," Cato assured him as Tertius dropped the ear gently. "I got a couple different kinds and the heavier ones can tug them, but that mostly just makes the skin around the ear ache a little, and sometimes I get headaches, but mostly it's fine."

Tertius nodded, continuing to watch the little ears swing until he noticed Cato watching him intently. "Yeah?"

"Your stutter?"

"Oh yeah! I-" Tertius began, before his smile dropped. He hadn't actually considered telling the story when he had bartered it, but he couldn't very well go back on it now. Cato was, again, very newly his best-best friend, and he couldn't spoil that trust by taking back a promise already. "I, uh... d-didn't do what my papa said and he cast a spell on me. It hurt a lot, and... I dunno. I ssstarted stuttering after."

Cato's face turned solemn. "My tamas can be like that too, only she doesn't use spells."

"Yeah?" Tertius asked, caught between a flurry of emotions at the confession. Relief that he didn't have to explain further. Guilt that he was willing to avoid telling Cato the details he had omitted. Dismay at envisioning his new, dearest friend's own punishment and a strange comfort that it was something he understood. Guilt, again. Shouldn't he want his friend to be spared something like that? "She shouldn't. I can't see you doing things bad enough to deserve it like me. You're good. I try, but you're really nice."

Cato lowered himself into the water so that his nose barely cleared the surface and blew a jet of bubbles. "Nah, I have to be better. I'm going to be a magister and a blood mage and I'm the heir so I have to be really, really good because a lot of people are going to count on me. I have to mess up less, so she's helping." Cato's smile, something that looked like it didn't quite fit his face right, slowly faded. "I'm an elf, too, so I have to be double good at things. Tamas said people are going to think if I mess up it's because of that, and it'll just go to show that I'm not as good, so I have to be really perfect so they don't have any reason to say I can't be those things."

Tertius scowled. "That doesn't sound very fair."

"Tamas says 'life's not fair'," Cato recited, nodding at the very serious bit of wisdom. "It's okay though. I just have to be better, and Tamas is helping. She always points out when I mess up so I can fix it next time. I just have to stop being dumb and messing up. That sounds pretty fair to me, since I want to be a good magister."

"I guess," Tertius agreed reluctantly. He still wasn't convinced that Cato deserved all that, but then those apprentices did already hurt him pretty bad. Perhaps it was because he needed to do better. Tertius didn't know; he wasn't an elf. Tamas was, and an adult besides, so she would definitely know these things.

"I-" Cato started, and stopped himself. His ears swiveled black, flopping so Tertius could see the inside part instead of the back that was usually shown from how it naturally folded. "I don't know what to do before I get better. I'm really trying, but..."

He shook his head, looking miserable as his ears flapped with the motion.

"But it's easier when you don't have to worry about people coming to hurt you," Tertius finished for him.

Tertius understood that. 

Cato nodded. He returned to the edge of the baths, resting his chin on the stone. When he spoke, his words were hardly a whisper. "I can't just not be here, and I can't just stop being me and stop being an elf. I don't know why they hate me so much."

"It's because they're dumb," Tertius supplied instantly.

Cato scrunched his nose. "But they're older."

"Can still be dumb."

"Why don't you hate me?"

Tertius shrugged, surprised at the question. "Because you're nice to me."

"How?"

"Because..." Tertius started, brow furrowed as he tried to figure out why. "You make me feel like it's not bad for me to talk. No one else does that. Even the enchanters make these really sad faces at me when I answer a question."

"Because of your stutter?"

"Because... I don't know. Maybe. I think they know I'm not supposed to be here."

"Why not?"

"I have two older brothers, so my family doesn't need me."

"Well, you should still learn how to use magic. Even if you're not a magister, you-"

"No," Tertius said, suddenly angry. "I shouldn't be here. I shouldn't have been born."

Cato looked at him, taken aback. It was a while before he said anything.

"Well. _I'm_ glad you ended up getting born, at least," he mumbled, almost petulantly.

Tertius couldn't help but smile. "See? This is you being really nice."

\--

They left a train of water dripping from their hair all the way back to the dormitories. Cato yawned great, loud yawns like a lion every other sentence and blinked slow and often, his exhaustion evident. Tertius was used to staying up all night, but he only managed by sleeping all through the day, sometimes even dozing in classes when the enchanters were talking on and on about something he had already understood. Cato, however, didn't have the benefit of sleeping through the day.

"Well, here you go," Tertius said, swinging his hand at the door to Cato's dormitories, and looked away. He didn't want their fun to end. He had a strange certainty that the next morning it would be like none of this happened, and Cato wouldn't forget him and forget being friends, and this was the end. But Cato was dead on his feet and it was making Tertius tired just looking at him. He couldn't make it much longer, Tertius knew.

It was fun while it lasted.

Cato looked at the door to his dorms, then back to Tertius with a sad, scrunched face. It was as if he didn't want to be forgotten too, but that couldn't be right. Still, he asked, "How 'bout I walk you to your dorms?"

"Oh, I'm gonna stay up longer. I always stay up at night," Tertius explained, shuffling awkwardly.

Cato looked back at the door, then back at Tertius, almost like a puppy. "I..." he began, words soft. "I don't wanna go back to sleep."

Oh. That was it. It was just that. Tertius shrugged. "You can't stay up forever."

"I know." Cato agreed quietly. "I'm scared, though."

"Scared?"

"The first time, they came when I was asleep. What if they come again?"

Tertius considered this, tapping his foot thoughtfully. "Why don't you just go someplace they can't find you?"

"Like where, though?"

Tertius shrugged, but a thought soon came to him.

"I have an idea."

\--

The cubby behind the bookshelves had been comfortable when it was just him, but it was a snug, cosy fit when it was the two of them.

Cato had lingered in the aisle between the shelves, looking to and fro and asked again how Tertius was sure he could sleep someplace so public and expect to be safe.

"I know they don't allow magic in the library," Cato reasoned, "but what's to keep them from just dragging me out? I've seen them here before. The other elf comes here too! What if he tells on me?"

"He won't know where you are either," Tertius had said, pulling the books off the lower shelf. "Trust me."

He slipped into the hidden compartment, motioning for Cato to follow, which he did. The space was not quite big enough for the both of them to comfortably sprawl out without budging up next to each other, but the indentation into the wall was large enough so that they could both curl up and rest with ease.

Cato crawled up onto the bench cushions of the nook, looking around the dim hidey-hole suspiciously. He inspected where the bookshelf met the wall and all the small gaps of where missing books would allow library patrons to peek in. They were few, narrow little slits, small enough that one would have to already know what to look for to notice at all.

"This," Cato said slowly, settling back into the cushion with a reluctant approval. "This is pretty good, I got to admit."

"I only know about it because I saw it from the loft. I don't think many people go up there just to look around, though. If those apprentices were mean to you, then they are probably dumb and if they're dumb I bet they wouldn't think of checking like that."

Cato nodded slowly, deciding that that logic was sound enough. Tertius propped himself into the reading nook himself, swinging his legs and hitting the wooden paneling under the cushions absently. He watched, trying not to laugh, as Cato slumped further and further, until he was nearly falling off the cushions altogether. "Hey."

"Yeah?"

Cato blinked slowly. Once, then twice, fighting the call of sleep hard. "If someone comes for me, you'll go get an enchanter, right?"

"Uh huh."

"You won't let them drag me away? You promise you'll do something?"

"I did last time," Tertius reminded him. At that, Cato smiled. His eyes were nearly slits and he wavered in balance when Tertius gave him a prod. "Lay down. That looks really uncomfortable. I'll shout if anyone comes for you, you know I will!"

Cato turned to him, blinked a slow, uncoordinated blink, and swung his body over, stretching out as much as he could and resting his head on Tertius' leg like a pillow. "M'yeah. You did."

Cato was heavy and warm and nuzzled against him like a big, sleepy... badger-wolf. Tertius couldn't get up to get more books if he wanted to, and he had to balance the big, heavy anatomy book he did have on his other leg, and it wobbled so it was hard to read unless he held very still. All in all, it was a very cumbersome sort of arrangement, and Cato had been terribly presumptive to think he could just drape himself all over him like that just because they were friends.

But…

"Hey," Tertius whispered. "Just don't pee on me, okay?"

He found he didn't mind as much as he had expected.


	11. Beds and Books and Beds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter: reference to past abuse
> 
> Thank you to my lovely beta, Autumn, for her assistance. <3

It lasted.

Tertius hadn't really expected it to. Even when Cato woke up that morning, blinking away the sleep and looked up only to see Tertius looking down at him since he noticed the other boy's stirring, Cato had only had to think for a moment before tilting his head and smiling a sleepy, grateful smile.

"I didn't wake up!" he said, as if all of it was normal, as if he didn't regret falling asleep on Tertius' leg.

Cato's muzzy delight was infectious. "Did you have any bad dreams?" Tertius asked. "You were sorta twitching there for a bit and I didn't know if I should wake you up or not. You were really sleepy last night."

"I did, but it wasn't as bad as normal. I hadn't really slept in a while. The healer gave me stuff to drink so I would go to sleep, but I've been pouring it out," Cato explained, sitting up and stretching. He yawned, tongue sticking out as he did so.

Tertius stretched as well, toes splaying as he stretched out the leg that had been trapped under Cato all night. "Why come?"

"It makes it hard to wake me up. If someone comes and gets me I don't want to sleep through all the chances I got to stick 'em and get away. But I can start drinking it now," Cato said, surprisingly cheerful for just waking up. "Uh, I mean. If you wanna keep staying here at night, with me."

The stipulation had been sheepish, as if Cato wasn't sure Tertius would want to make last night's arrangement a habit. Which was absurd. Other than his leg being asleep itself, Tertius had been riding the giddy delight of his new friendship all night, only having to glance down at the smooshed and drooling face of his new best-best friend to confirm that it was real. If anything, it was Tertius that had more than half expected Cato to dismiss him when he woke, now that there was no bedsheet evidence to-

"Oh!" Tertius said, standing in the cramped space. He ignored the prickles in his still-asleep leg. "We gotta put sheets on your bed before everyone wakes up, or they'll get suspicious."

Cato recoiled. "But I don't have any sheets. The ones we sent to the laundry last night won't be done yet."

"That's okay. I have bed stuff that I brought from home, so you can have my Circle sheets and I'll just change mine. Come _on_!"

Tertius shimmied through the shelf, helping Cato through behind him, and they quickly returned the books they had dislodged to slip through before tromping off to the dorms. The light pattering the hall floors from the tall line of windows let through the pale pink light of morning, dusty but not yet bright. The first of the morning birdsongs began as Tertius slipped into his dorm room, motioning Cato to follow behind.

They stripped the bed as quietly as they could, the mumble of sleepy apprentices around them making them both jump and fear being discovered, but soon enough Cato had a bundle of linens all tucked up in his arms.

"Go ahead and put these on, I'll do my own, so we both don't get caught out," Tertius whispered, drawing up close so Cato could hear without waking the whole room.

Cato nodded seriously, and snuck swiftly to the door as Tertius pulled out the bedding where it was folded under his-

Tertius stared down at the yellow blanket in his hand, still for just a moment while he remembered.  


Then, quick and wordless, he ran out to the hall between their dorms, catching Cato trying to open the door with his full hands just in time.

"Psst!" Tertius hissed, and Cato stopped and jumped, twisting to see Tertius, and gave a silent, mimed sigh.

"What?" he said in a stage whisper.

Tertius closed the distance between them and draped the half-folded blanket over Cato's shoulders. "My bedding is really puffy so I don't get cold. You can have this."

"Really?" Cato asked, delight lighting up his face. If Tertius wasn't sure of his decision before, he was now. "It's so fuzzy, I love it!"

"Right? But I gotta go. I'll meet you tonight at the library? A few minutes after lights out."

Cato's face flashed with something Tertius couldn't exactly place, but he liked it. Cato nodded and nuzzled against the fuzzy edge of the blanket. " _Thank_ you."

Tertius beamed as Cato slipped into his dorms, feeling giddy and light and like he wanted to skip. He couldn't wait to tell Stardust about this.

\--

Cato flopped onto his bed after history class belly-first, nuzzling and rubbing his face against the fuzzy yellow blanket like a cat scenting his favorite person. His books and papers scattered at his bedside, assignments already done in class while some of the other students had asked questions and needed help. His tutors had already taught him the basics of the Senate and how it came to be. It was, after all, his birthright, and he was expected to know all that plenty better than the students who it wouldn't really matter to. Cato was proud of his role, and excited to do well and make his family proud.

The longer he stayed in the Circle, the more he felt a stubborn pride in representing not just his district, but elves as well. Cato had a sneaking suspicion that the Circle's attendance was a good way to judge how many elves would be working alongside him in the Senate, and- he considered with a shudder- how some of the other magisters might feel about him being there at all, even if it _was_ his right.

Cato pet the fuzzy blanket stretched across his bed. This he hadn't expected. The Danarius boy was strange, certainly. But nice. More nice than Cato had expected. More nice than he even knew what to do with. The gift and promise of meeting again tonight had struck at Cato's already weathered wariness, eroded with exhaustion and gratitude for what he had already done for him, both calling the dorm master and finding him a safe den to hole up in should trouble arise.

He would be able to sleep. How trying it had been to stay awake hadn't really occured to Cato until he no longer had to resist it. He would be safe, and because of that, he could sleep, and be healthier, and stronger and then even more safe. All because of the human.

Cato wasn't sure what to make of Danarius being so helpful, despite his humanity. Perhaps some were good.

If so, Cato didn't much care. Enough of them weren't. Enough of them took him in the middle of the night. His mother's warnings were fresh in his mind, and Cato slipped his knife under his pillow where he hid it when he was in bed and reading. It was daytime. He was safe. They wouldn't be that reckless.

All the quiet reassurance in the world didn't fade his fear as much as the promise of the library.

\--

When Cato met the Danarius boy at the library the night, he brought his bookbag, overflowing with necessities and goodies and treats.

"Dan!" Cato whispered, hopping when he saw the other boy lingering shadily in the aisle of their secret cubby hole's entrance. 

Dan turned to him, cocking his head and looking perplexed. "'Dan'?"

"Yeah, cos you're a Danarius, but the whole thing sounds stuffy and too much and you're my friend. So. 'Dan'."

"You know my name's Tertius, right? You remember?" he asked.

"Yeah, but most humans from important houses go by their house name, and 'number three' feels... I don't know. Rude, or strange. Both. Do you not like it?"

Dan beamed as he lowered himself to the floor and pulled out the books hiding the cubby. "No, it's nice! I just never had a nickname before. Especially not one with my family, since I'm not heir. Oh, do you want me to start calling you Fen'Rhea? Or maybe just Fen? I really like 'Cato' to be honest, that's what I've been calling you in my head." For a moment, Dan blustered, cheeks going pink as if he had mispoke somehow. "I mean, when I told Stardust about you."

"Naw, 'Cato' is fine, I don't need a fancy name. Tamas calls me and Aun 'fenris', sometimes. She said her tamas called her that and her tamas' tamas called her tamas that and... you get me. 'Fenris' means 'little wolf', so it's for all the badger-wolf kids," Cato explained, eager that Dan seemed as excited to learn about his family as Cato was to share. He can't imagine any of the other apprentices humoring him so much without making fun of his elvhen ancestry. "Tamas also said soldiers can earn a nickname when they do something out on Seheron. So I'll just wait for then. Those names aren't always nice, but they 'build character' and that's supposed to be good."

"'Fenris'," Dan repeated, considering it as if he was trying to decide if he liked how it tasted on his tongue. He slipped, legs-first this time, into the den. "That's a pretty name."

"Who's Stardust?" Cato asked, poking his head through after Dan and getting a faceful of his robes. He batted the robes away and waited for Dan to crawl up on the cushions before sliding in himself, dragging the book bag behind him.

"Oh! I never said, did I?" Dan said cheerily, knocking his heel on the paneling as Cato got comfortable. He continued, eyes shut and a delightfully smug grin on his face. "Stardust is my pony."

"What? You have your own pony? Wha-, that's so great, why did you get a pony!?" Cato gasped, happy for his friend, even if he was a little envious. He's not quite sure what a kid his age did with a pony. Could Dan ride it? Oh, but they're so small, the image was funny to even think about!

"Stardust is the best and most beautiful pony there is. My papa got her for me, and she's so nice and sweet, and she kisses me and she really loves sugar, and- oh! Oh, can I show you to her tomorrow? I visit her every day between classes and naps."

Cato grinned. He wasn't entirely convinced the pony even existed with how Dan bragged of her, so he was willing to call the potential bluff. And if it turned out Stardust was real and not "invisible" or "at home" like some of the other apprentices might try to pull, then at least he got to see a pony. "Sure thing! I know your group does different things than mine, since we aren't ever in the same class, but we have time after lunch when we can play or take naps. I'm never tired at naptime, so we can go then if you want to."

"She'll love you, I know," Dan said, very serious.

Cato climbed up onto the cubby's cushions and pulled his bag between the two of them. "I bought some things," Cato explained, dumping out his bag and picking out items. "Since this is our spot and no one else knows about it, we can hide stuff in here. Let's see... I brought a pillow and an extra blanket- I didn't bring the yellow one because I want to have that one out during the day since it's special- and a deck of cards. Do you know how to play Diamondback? It's really fun, I'll teach you! Uh... I have a couple of books. This one's of fables. You can read it and see if there's any you haven't-"

"Uh, Cato?" Dan interrupted.

"Yeah?"

Dan looked at the pile of stuff between them, picking up a puzzle game Cato had brought in case he got bored. "Where are you going to put all this stuff? We don't have much room to sleep already. I figured that's what you'd be doing here, right? Like what we did last night?"

"Well, yeah. But I'm going to put them in here," he said, patting the cushions. When Dan looked more confused than less, Cato hopped up and pulled Dan to a stand as well before lifting the cushions to reveal a hollow space beneath the nook. "You didn't know about this? It's so apprentices can put their bags someplace safe while they're reading. And since this place is a secret, this is extra safe. Nobody could ever possibly know where it is, so we can be really extra sure that the things in it won't get stolen."

Cato beamed, watching his friend as the gears so obviously turned in his head. "It really is like having our own room. But better! What else did you bring? What's that?"

Dan pointed to his folded game board and the small velvety bag of pieces. "That's for games. One side has chess and the other has Sternhalma. I can teach those to you too if you don't know. I'll try to tell you all the rules before we start; but chess has a lot and sometimes I get them mixed up, especially the horses and the Circles, for some reason."

Cato trailed off, distracted by the mystery of why did he get those two mixed up. His attention snapped back when Dan laughed. "I already know how to play chess. I've never heard of the other one, though. Sternhalma? Is that an elf thing?"

Cato laughed. "It's in Ander. It means 'Star-'... er, star something."

";Halma' is Arcanum for jump," Dan supplied. "Is it from that? If it is, that's really strange."

"Maybe it came from before the Imperium and the Anderfels didn't like each other," Cato reasoned. If so, that was really interesting. "I bet there's a book on it. We should probably find one, just in case we don't know if something's a fair move or not. That way we can look it up and it'll be-" he braced himself to try and pronounce this right. "Non-par-ti-san."

"What's that mean?"

"It's when two groups that usually are fighting each other agree on something. It's a fancy word magisters use sometimes when they don't want to assassinate someone they usually want to assassinate over something, so it's okay if you don't know it."

Dan looked unimpressed. "I don't know if I want to play a game where you're going to want to assassinate me if I play a wrong move."

"That's not-!" Cato chirped, afraid he'd been misunderstood, when he saw Dan trying hard not to smile. It had been a joke. Cato snorted, and shoved Dan's shoulder in mock-anger. "Maybe I should."

"I would like to learn," Dan promised. "But it's starting to get kind of late, and I found this really great book I want to look at, and you should probably try to sleep soon."

Cato wilted slightly. He was happy to be sleeping, more happy to feel safe doing it, but the entire endeavor had developed a strange sense of dread when he thought about it. Cato didn't want to look at that for too long- he had the impression that maybe there was something bigger that would snap at him and lash out if he poked too hard at it, and he was too grateful to actually get some sleep to risk spoiling that just because his feelings were all... bad. 

"Okay, but let me finishing showing you all my stuff," he bartered.

Dan agreed, and Cato picked through his puzzles and games, night gown and change of clothes, and showed Dan his knife- briefly- before deciding he would keep this one thing out. Just in case.

"Can I use the hiding spot too?" Dan asked as Cato packed away the last of his little knick-knacks, pulled out the blanket and pillow and changed into his sleeping gown.

Cato shrugged, smoothing out the front of the gown. "Sure! There's plenty of room. What do you want to hide?"

"There are a couple books I think look really nice, but... I'm a little worried that the Librarian won't like me checking them out. So I want to hide them so the other apprentices don't take them," Dan explained, looking away and voice going a step higher. "It's not really important, but-"

"What kind of book aren't you allowed to check out from the library?" Cato asked, surprised. It had to be a really neat book for Dan to not be allowed to read it. All the enchanters say they should read every book they could, so this one had to be extra special.

Dan blushed, cheeks turning red. "It's... uh. It's got sssome pictures."

"It's a picture book?" What kind of picture book would be banned? Picture books weren't impressive- they were for little baby kids like Aunny who couldn't read.

"No," Dan explained, as vaguely as he could. "It's got p-pictures. You know. Pictures."

Dan was trying to suggest something, stressing the words with a certain fluster. The blush had spread out to the tips of his ears and down his neck. Cato still didn't get it. "...I don't get it."

"I can show you, but you have to promise not to t-tell."

Cato nodded, wanting to be in on the secret more and more as time passed. "Course! Best-friend promise."

Dan beamed at him, evidently accepting the oath. "I'll be right back then, I'll go get it."

Dan wormed his way out from the low shelf, and Cato listened to his footfalls until they disappeared. Cato waited, excitement slowly eroding as time passed in favor of worry.

Had something happened? Nothing happened. Dan was human. But what if someone knew Dan was his friend? What if they went after Dan because Cato liked him?

The more he thought about it, the more he was certain that that was precisely what had happened, that Dan was gone and hurt and it was his fault, because he had gotten him all tangled up in his mess. By the time he heard someone walking through the aisle toward their cubby's bookshelf, he was entirely convinced it was someone coming to drag him away, his whereabouts gotten out of his poor friend through some nefarious means.

Cato brought the knife up, pointing it down and trying not to think about whether it was enchanted or not. Eyes, belly and between the legs.

The books on the lowest shelf were pulled out, and-

And Dan's head popped through the hole, a smile and a blush on his face. "Sorry I was- oh."

"Sorry!" Cato apologized, placing the knife back on the shelf behind the books and sitting on his hands in abashedly. "Sorry, you were taking a while and I thought you might have been... someone else."

Dan's face was scrunched. "Okay, but can you not keep pointing knives at me? It's scary."

"I said I was sorry," Cato grumped, feeling guilty.

Dan shook his head and continued to climb through the shelf, dragging a large, new tome behind him. He sat back on the cushions and pulled it onto his lap. "Okay, you know how I like to draw?"

"Yeah," Cato nodded.

"And you know how I like inside stuff? Like muscles and organs and things like that?"

"Yeah, yeah."

"Well, I like to draw pictures sometimes from these books that show all the organs and things, because you can see where everything goes. I read the books and a lot of artists do that, so they can get better. So I was thinking-"

"Okay, but what's in the book?"

"So I was _thinking_ ," Dan repeated, emphasis implying that he was getting there. "That I want to find books with pictures of people so I can draw people without them moving around all the time. So I was looking for books with people, and I found... this! Wait... one second. Let me... gotta find the page. Ah! This!"

Dan opened the book to a page with beautiful illustrations. Woodcut prints of women in all sorts of poses. Drawing water from a well, feeding chickens, doing laundry. It looked terribly mundane, except-

"They're _naked_!" Cato shouted, forgetting himself. Dan nudged his elbow into Cato's side and shushed him. Cato continued, quieter this time but with a conspiratorial bent now that they had proper, legitimate contraband. "Why are they naked? Is this... for _bed_ stuff?"

"I don't think so- it was with the books with all the other regular pictures. It even has other regular pictures in it too! And besides, I don't think people really want to do... uh... 'bed stuff' thinking about girls feeding chickens," Dan reasoned cautiously. He flipped through to show all of the other pages, all sorts of random objects in all sorts of weird angles. "I don't really want to do 'bed stuff' at all. Maybe I'm just not old enough yet, but I really just like the book because it's really good at helping with my drawings. They have tons and tons of pictures of hands! Hands are really hard."

"Yeah, you probably grow into it. Like magic!" Cato agreed. Privately, he was glad that Dan wasn't terribly interested in the drawings on the page for those reasons. They were pretty illustrations, but he felt a similar disinterest in that sort of thing when presented with the pictures. The older boys in the mess hall always made crude jokes that Cato didn't get, and the seemingly universal understanding that girls had bodies that felt good when you look at them went over Cato's head. "I can see why you would think the librarian wouldn't want you to borrow this one, yeah."

"There are a couple more. More pictures of naked people, and also pictures of other things, too," Dan explained. His voice sounded frail. "Thhhe inside stuff I told you about before? They have pictures of people's insides. Elves and Qunari and Dwarves too! They're books for healers, so they know what can go wrong inside of you, but the pictures are really good and have lots of small little things that you wouldn't really notice. Can I show you?"

"Sure!" Cato agreed. If Dan was so excited about it, he wanted to know what all the fuss was about.

Dan pulled up a second book, flipping it open to a diagram of a human torso being spread out to show the intestines, kidneys, liver and stomach and how they all folded tidily into the body. "See? And up here is where the stomach would connect to the- Cato? Are you okay?"

Was he okay? He felt cold and away and sore, sweat prickling on the back of his neck and his body locked tight at the sight of the insides. He had seen those before. It had spilled out of the rat.

When Cato came to his senses, he was on the floor, legs curled so he could fit into the small space of the cubby. Dan was above him, tearstreaked and blotchy in his crying.

"Ck-" he managed, sniffing and sobbing as he leaned back. "Cuh- Catooo?"

"Yeah?" Cato asked, blinking away the strange sleep that overtook him. "What happened?"

"You fffell d-down. I thought mmmaybe you d-d-died," Dan only barely got out between his hitched breath.

"Sorry," he apologized, sitting up. He felt a little dizzy and eased himself back to the ground. He'd get back up in a bit.

"Are yyyou o-oh-okay?" Dan stammered.

Was he? What had even happened? "Ya huh," he decided. "I feel pretty okay now. Little tired. That was weird."

"D-don't you eeever d-do that to me aaagain!" Dan said. He took the pillow off the cubby cushions from where Cato had left it and flopped it at Cato's head, furious. Fhop. Cato's hands came up and clawed at the air to defend himself, swatting at the pillow as Dan brought it back to his chest.

Cato tried sitting up again, feeling less cloudy and more lucid after the pillow attack. His ear, free from their cuffs for the night, swivled back in annoyance. "S'not like I meant to-" Fhop. "Grgh! I didn't mean to do it. Besides, I was still breathing, so-" Fhop. "Would you stop that?!"

"I thhhought-" Fhop. "You-" Fhop. "Died!" Fhop fhop fhop.

"Well I didn't!" Cato snapped, finally managing to catch the pillow as it came down and snatch it out of Dan's grasp. He twisted his body away so he was between Dan and his feathery weapon of choice, nose wrinkled. He stuck his tongue out in defiance for a moment, and Dan began to cry in earnest. Loud, wailing sobs, the likes only a five-year-old could achieve.

Ah jeeze.

"Hey," Cato tried, shoulders slumping and he prodded Dan's shoulder to get his attention. "Hey! I'm okay! See?"

Cato flapped his arms, demonstrating his obvious hail and hearty state. Dan mostly ignored him, stutter stuck as he wailed, "I- I- I-"

"Shhh, I'm fine. I'm okay! You gotta shush, Dan, or people are gonna hear and then they'll come and find us," Cato warned, his voice squeaky from worry. "They like seeing people cry, so you gotta stop. Here. Try this- this works for me. Just don't hit me with it."

Cato passed the pillow back to Dan, who buried his face in the side and gave a very muffled scream. Cato waited awkwardly for his friend's meltdown to subside, slapping his palms on his knees where he sat cross-legged in a random rhythm. Finally, Dan's wailing tapered into wet, nearly silent sniffles. "Yyyou ssscared me."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to! I don't know what happened, I just.. there was a big... thing, and I fell asleep?" Cato explained, poorly. He gave a lopsided smile. "But I'm okay. I'll talk to the dorm master and see if they know what might have happened, so I don't scare you again."

"Yyyou swear you're okay?"

"Ya huh. It felt bad before I went to sleep, but I think you feel worse than I do now," Cato assured him. "I wish I brought snacks. I'd offer you one, but I was afraid we wouldn't eat them in time and they'd get moldy and gross. Or someone would smell them and find out about this place."

"Yeah, maybe don't," Dan agreed, his tears quieting to just jagged little sips of air. When he spoke, he sounded more embarrassed than angry or panicked. "You felt like you were dead."

"Huh?"

"Like how people who are alive feel like air, and dead people feel like swimming in water, sort of?" Dan continued, oblivious to Cato's confusion. "Only, it was more like alive people are air and dead is like... honey. You felt like water."

"What are you even talking about?" Cato asked again, completely lost.

"You _know_. That feeling when people are alive and when they're dead."

Cato's brow furrowed. "I _don't_ know. Or at least, I never noticed before. I never heard of that."

"Yeah? That's weird. Maybe it's something that'll grow in, like magic or liking girls. I don't think I used to be able to do it," Dan explained, his voice trailing into near silence. It made Cato uneasy.

He didn't want to think about dead things. Even thinking about the book he'd been shown made Cato feel queasy and not good. "Dan, I don't think I should look at those pictures until I figure out what happened."

"Oh," Dan said, voice off. Probably disappointed. Cato hoped he wouldn't start crying again; he already felt bad. "Okay. That's fine, I guess. You should probably sleep anyway. Uh, d'you still want to meet Stardust tomorrow?"

Cato wasn't sure how that was related but he was glad he could at least say yes to this. "Course! He sounds like a nice pony."

" _She_ is a nice pony," Dan corrected him, but seemed satisfied in that at least. Maybe Stardust _was_ real, if Dan could remember that detail. Cato still decided he'd believe it when he saw it.

Dan continued, breaking Cato out of his thoughts. "You're not mad at me, are you?"

"What?"

"It's not bad to like this?" Dan asked, genuinely unsure. "Nobody else does. Sometimes I wonder if there's something wrong with my head, since I like looking at that stuff. I already stutter. What if there's something else... different? I mean, you really, really didn't seem to like it, and you're good. Is it normal, you think?"

Cato suppressed a shudder at the vague reference to the book's contents, but swallowed down the squirmy feeling and nodded. "Don't see why not. Just because it made me-" Cato gestured, unsure of what to call his brief episode, "-doesn't mean it's bad. We don't even know why I-..."

Cato finished off by gesturing wildly again, pleased when he saw his friend's tearstreaked face light up at the playfulness. "So you're not mad at me?"

"Naw, not if you're not mad at me," Cato promised. Dan shook his head vehemently, as if the notion of being cross at Cato was downright repugnant, and Cato nodded. It was settled. "Alright. We're okay."

"Yeah."

"Yeah."

"Cato?"

Cato looked to Dan, whose face seemed to glow now that that was resolved. "Yeah?"

"Go to sleep. The good kind this time."

Cato snorted.


	12. Currying Favor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter brought to you by dude ranch nostalgia. Don't wory. Your regularly scheduled angst is set to return in the next chapter.
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: reference to past abuse
> 
> Thank you to my beta, Autumn <3

Tertius pointed as the approached the stables, pride bubbling over. "That's her! That's her right there, they turned her out for the day already, it looks like."

Stardust grazed placidly in the open fields, ignoring a bay horse that seemed intent on getting her attention. At Tertius' voice, she raised her delicate head and trotted, the picture of elegance, to where Tertius and Cato stood at the pasture's fencing. As Stardust approached, Cato took a step back, face froggish as Stardust lifted her head over the fence and politely requested Tertius' attention.

"That's a pony?" Cato asked, unsure.

"Well it's not a dragon."

"No, I mean," Cato began, edging closer as he watched Stardust's whiskers tickle over the palm of Tertius' hand. "She's big. She's a pony, so I just... expected her to be smaller. Like those little ponies that pull the half-carts."

"Oh, no, those are Anderfel Mountain Ponies. Yeah, those do stay that small. But I couldn't ride those! Stardust is a Tevene Riding Pony. My mom's family made the breed, special. Aren't they pretty?"

"She sure is a pony," Cato said, evasively. When Tertius turned and frowned at him, hurt, he was pressed to continue. "Horses and ponies and things like that are a little spooky, aren't they? Look at their faces. They're so long. Why are their faces so darn long?"

Tertius snorted at his friend's suspicion. "Stardust is really nice, you don't have to worry about her."

"But she's so big, too! Bigger than me by lots. Bigger than you. You're not worried she'll step on you or anything?"

"She already stepped on me," Tertius said, enjoying Cato's alarm.

"Didn't that hurt?" he asked. He edged away more, putting Tertius between him and the pony.

"Well, yeah. She's a pony so she is pretty heavy, but it was just an accident and I pushed her off right away. It didn't even break my foot or anything; it was just sore for a couple of hours." Tertius looked over his shoulder at where Cato was very nearly cowering. His fear was losing some of its humor, though, and Tertius began to wish they could just get on with each other. "If you're really that scared, you don't have to be here. I can just meet up with you at the library at sundown."

"B-but, you really like Stardust. This is special," Cato argued, inching forward to the pony's soft grey muzzle.

"Yeah, but you don't have to really like her too, you just got to not be mean to her or rude or think she's bad," Tertius assured him. Even as he said it, he felt distantly sad that his two best friends might not get along.

Cato, however, seemed to take this as he often did- as a challenge. He tugged on Tertius' riding shirt and asked, "D'you have any more sugar cubes?"

"No, but there are carrots in the barn if you want to try giving her a treat," Tertius said, lighting up at the prospect. Cato nodded and scampered off, returning after a short while with two carrots, one in each hand while Stardust's eyes shut in peaceful contentment at Tertius' scritching. When she saw the carrots, she lifted her head and took a few slow paces closer to Cato, and when she was not immediately rewarded she gave a small nicker.

"Don't be spoiled," Tertius chided her, petting down her neck as Cato broke the carrot in half.

"So how do I do this?"

"Lay your hand real flat and just put in on your palm and reach out. But you have to keep your fingers flat, or she might accidentally chomp on them trying to get the carrot."

Cato made a distressed noise high in his throat even as he placed the carrot as he was instructed. He reached forward, mumbling, "So, do I tell her to- Oh!"

Stardust gobbled up the carrot without ceremony and nuzzled her velvety muzzle against Cato's palm afterwards, as if thanking him for the gift. Or, more likely for how pampered she was, asking for more.

"Aw, she likes you!" Tertius said, delighted. He knew she would, but it was still nice to be right.

"Did you see that? She just munched it right up, right out of my hand!" Cato crowed, beaming over to Tertius. "I didn't think she'd hork it up like that in one big bite, ha!"

Tertius stomped. "Stardust is a _lady_ pony. She didn't 'hork' _anything_ up. Ponies are just a lot bigger than us, so that was a regular normal bite-size handful of carrot for her."

"Alright, alright. That's fair, I'm sorry."

"Better be," Tertius mumbled, still pouting and sore from the insult to Stardust's honor. To think of her as anything less than a majestic princess!

"Your mom did a really good job breeding her," Cato said, carefully stroking over the soft skin over Stardust's nose. He smiled sheepishly, as if he realized Tertius was not pleased. "She's not nearly as scary as she first looks. She's real sweet."

"My mom didn't breed her, her family did. That was awhile ago. There are lots of Tevene Riding Ponies now; but they're still really special and pretty and good. Everyone wants one just like her, but they can't have her because she's mine!" Tertius asserted, patting Stardust's side. "And we make a really good team! My riding teacher is going to let me jump pretty soon."

"That sounds scary. Is she fast? Do they jump high?"

"Yes and yeah! But I've been riding for a really long time, as long as I can remember, so I'm ready. And Stardust won't let me fall, will you, Dusty?"

Stardust remained silent, her eyes closed in placid relaxation at all the attention and treats.  
"Did your mom teach you how to ride?" Cato asked.

Tertius smile faltered, twisting slightly bitter. "She did, a little. Before she got sick."

"Aw, sorry 'bout your mom," Cato commiserated, shoulders dropping. "I hope she gets better."

"She died."

"Oh." For some time, the two of them were silent. Cato seemed to sense beyond the wisdom of his years that there was nothing to say to that, no way to make it better, reading the stiff way Tertius braced for empty platitudes or unwelcome sympathy. Wanting to hear none of it. Then, with a lopsided smile, he asked, "Do you want to show me how you ride Stardust? I could run alongside you and see how much faster she is, because I bet she's really fast."

Tertius, heart aching and eyes stinging, managed to smile. "Yeah, I think I'd like that."

\--

It took some time for them to get Stardust out to the paddock. Cato was very curious, asking a constant stream of questions about the brush and blanket and saddle and bridle all throughout the process of getting Stardust ready to go out. Tertius was about half sure he was doing it to help keep his mind off his mother, but was grateful. Part of the reason he groomed her and put on her tack himself instead of just letting a slave do it was for the same reason, the other being that he liked spending the time with Stardust, and he liked answering Cato's questions. It made him feel good to be able to answer most of them and hear Cato's impressed hums.

Tertius mounted, checked his stirrups, and pressed his calves into Stardust's side gently. He loosened the reins, asking her forward into her sedated, elegant walk. Cato trailed alongside, giving Stardust a wide berth but loped along at a jog to keep up with her long legs.

"Wait until we get into the field to start running, okay?" Tertius asked. "I don't want you to scare her on accident running too close while we're still near the stables."

"Me? Scare her?" Cato wondered.

Stardust continued serenely, her pale eyelashes fluttering as she blinked. "Uh huh!" Tertius nodded. "Horses and ponies have a lot of animals that want to eat them in the wild, so they get scared really easily. I've heard of horses getting scared for lots of silly reasons, like seeing a leaf they didn't expect, or a bush rustling, or your hat falling off. Stardust is pretty calm most of the time, but I still don't want to make her upset, even if she is really brave."

Cato tilted his head, considering that. "What does a horse do if they're scared?"

"A lot of the time they can start running really, really fast. Faster than I'm allowed to go, and I'd probably fall off and get hurt. Stardust could get hurt too! It's really easy for them to hurt themselves when they go really fast because they're scared."

"So don't scare her on purpose as a joke, got it."

"Cato Fen'Rhea, if you even _think_ about it, I'm gonna-!"

"I said I wouldn't! I don't want you or her to get hurt, that wouldn't be funny," Cato reassured, waving his hand in dismissal. "But if they really do scare that easy, you sure you're gonna be safe?"

"Yeah, I'm pretty good at riding. My teacher wouldn't let me start jumping if I wasn't, because that can be real dangerous too," Tertius explained.

Cato made a grumble of distress. "Okay. If you're sure. You gotta be careful though, because if something happened to my best friend I'd be really upset and angry. I would never, ever forgive Stardust, even if she is really nice and didn't mean to."

"I'll be okay," Tertius promised, privately bursting in joy that his best-best friend would be sad if something happened to him. Cato might be the only one who would.

\--

Cato was, predictably, very impressed with Stardust's speed. Tertius only trotted when racing, not really supposed to go faster without someone there to chaperone, and the stablehands were keeping an eye out, but Tertius wasn't sure that counted, since they were just there to tell on him if he did go too fast or do something stupid.

They still had plenty of fun running over the grasses, Cato sprinting on foot and Stardust easily overtaking him until Cato was heaving for breath and ended up lying down, reminding Tertius constantly not to accidentally trample him while he stood with Stardust plenty of paces away.

After that, they ended up playing a game where Cato would sit and call directions, and Tertius would seamlessly follow them with Stardust, to Cato's simple delight.

"How are you doing that even? Is it magic?" he had asked, not being able to tell when Tertius pressed lightly on Stardust's side or noticing when he gently moved the reins. Cato's mystification equally delighted Tertius, amused by how his friend took his skill for wizardry.

Later, when Tertius had brought Stardust over to the pond to drink and take a break, Cato had uprooted one of the long, thin reeds near the pond's edge. He showed it to Tertius proudly.

"You wanna play cavalry?" he asked.

"I don't know how..." Tertius said, tilting his head at the reed. It ended in a little brown bulb- a cattail.

Cato puffed out his chest. "I just made it up! After Stardust is finished drinking, you get on her and try to hit me with the brown thing on this, like you're part of the cavalry and you're trying to stick me with your spear."

"Why do you always want to play games that hurt?" Tertius complained, but took the switch and inspected it further. When Cato made a noise of confusion, Tertius explained further. "When you wanted to play pretend, you wanted to pretend to eat me. You were gonna scare Stardust as a joke, and you want me to hit you with this now. You even joked about sending assassins when we were gonna play chess!"

"Hey, I was gonna send assassins for Sternhalma, not chess," Cato corrected him, but seeing Tertius' scrunched, displeased face, he dropped the teasing. "I... I dunno. I just think it's fun. I've always wrestled with Aun and pretended to spar with sticks and stuff. Tamas says it's good because it teaches me to not be afraid of fighting."

"Because Seheron?" Tertius asked.

"Because Seheron, yeah."

Tertius didn't understand. "You're not going to be able to go to Seheron for ages and ages though. That's years away! Why do you have to start fighting now?"

"Well," Cato mumbled, looking over to the surface of the pond. He folded his knees and sat, looking out as he picked the grass. Nearby, Stardust continued to graze. "Seheron is supposed to be really dangerous and scary. So I have to start now so I have the best shot of coming back, because I'm supposed to be a magister, too. And... it's not like Seheron's the only place I got to fight, anyway."

Tertius sat beside him, knees knocking as he pulled grass alongside him. "Where else do you got to fight?"

Cato looked at him, frowning. "If I was bigger and stronger, I could have maybe fought the apprentices who took me. Maybe I could have at least ran away, or said something back when they said things. Maybe if I was good enough they wouldn't have got me to begin with, maybe they'd be too scared."

"I don't know," Tertius said, skeptically, surprised and afraid now that Cato was talking about what happened. He didn't want to say the wrong thing. But he wasn't sure what the right thing to say would be, so he decided to just be honest. "There were a lot of them, and they were older, too. I don't think you could have scared them off or fought better. They've been at the Circle a long time, haven't they? They probably learned a lot of stuff from the enchanters that we haven't yet, stuff we can't know yet because we're just not as big."

"But I have to be able to do something!" Cato said in dismay. He picked up a rock and lobbed it into the water, watching it hit and sink with a 'plunk'. "There's got to be something I can do, so I can do it if they try to get me again. No one else will. I mean, you'll call for help, which is really nice, but I don't want you trying to fight them and getting hurt because of me."

"You have your knife," Tertius pointed out. He followed Cato's lead, picking out and throwing a rock. It landed short, plopping in the mud near the pond's edge.

"That's true, yeah."

They sat in the long grass for some time, Cato stretching out and soaking up the warm autumn sun and Tertius watching him bask and Stardust munch daintily on grass. After some time, Stardust wandered over to where they sat, her lips nibbling toothlessly at Tertius' ponytail. He scratched the spot on her forehead where her coat whorled, and the direction of the fur went in everywhere, and she gave a cute, blustery snort.

"Did you bring your knife out here?" Tertius asked, the thought just occurring to him.

"Nah," Cato said. He didn't open his eyes.

"Why not? You're not afraid?"

"Apprentices aren't allowed to use magic out here, like in the library. And yeah, they could just catch me and drag me someplace where they can," Cato said, before popping open one eye and giving a mischievous smile. "But first they'd have to catch me. I may not ride as well as you but I'd bet you'd let me ride away if I really needed to."

"I'm pretty sure Stardust could carry us both," Tertius agreed. She was very strong, after all. And, perhaps more to the point, they were very small. "We can try us both riding at the same time right now if you want. Just to practice your escape!"

"Uhh," Cato offered dimly, looking suddenly unsure. "That... er, uh. That's okay. I should really wear my boots when we do, unless it's a real emergency. Since that's how you use the dangly feet things, right?"

Tertius looked down at his friend, suspecting that his footwear wasn't really the issue. "The stirrups. And yeah, but we both can't use the stirrups at the same time anyway, so you can just hold on."

"Well... I mean, don't you think you should be the one who just holds on? You're a better rider than me, after all. That just seems to make sense," Cato reasoned, his voice pitched higher than normal.

"You can just say you're scared," Tertius teased.

"I'm not scared! I just don't want to get hurt, because I've only ever ridden those little cart ponies when I was smaller. And riding on Miss Stardust seems like it would take a... a very advanced rider, seeing how she's so fast, right?"

"You're scared."

"Am not!"

"You aren't even a little?" Tertius weedled. "Because I get scared sometimes when she goes faster than I expected, and I'm a really good rider, so it seems weird that you wouldn't be scared at all, not even a little."

"I'm... a little concerned," Cato said in compromise, eyes shut as he sat up with a dignified jut to his chin. "That there could be an accident. That's not the same as being scared. That's being smart."

"Well, we don't have to try it today. There's always next time." Tertius stood, brushing off the pulled up grass on his lap while Stardust huffed. He paused. "Well, if you want to come back."

"Yeah, this is nice! Even if I don't ride, we can always play games, like earlier. Or I can sit out here and read for the enchanters while you ride around; the willow looks like a really place to read or even just take a nap. I've got so much sleep I need to catch up on."

Tertius looked out past the still pond, trying to judge when the sky would start to go golden. That was when he really needed to bring Stardust in if he wanted to make it back before dark. It was getting late, but he didn't want to stop playing. It was so nice out here. He could hear Cato even better without the voices, and the details of his voice became apparent. Tertius liked it. He liked how it was a little scratchy, and he liked how his friend laughed.

"There's some daylight left. D'you want to try playing 'cavalry?'"

"Huh?" Cato asked, surprised and then delighted. "You want to try it? I didn't think you liked that stuff."

"I do! Just not all the time. Besides, it does kind of sound like it could be fun," Tertius said. It was a little bit of a fib- Tertius thought it still sounded needlessly mean when he could just as soon lean over and tag Cato- but he liked Cato, and he liked Stardust, and he especially liked being able to play with both of them together. Since he enjoyed it so much, he needed to do something to try and get Cato to come back again. Sure Cato said he liked it too, but just to be safe.

Cato leapt to his feet, pinwheeling his arms when the sudden jump made him almost lose his balance. He righted himself and beamed. "Alright! Mount up, commander!"

\--

Tertius and Cato walked back to the Circle proper shoulder to shoulder, stopping only for Tertius to wave back at Stardust, who was rolling around in the pasture's dirt, seemingly pleased that her saddle was finally off. He turned back around, and checked Cato playfully.

Their attempts to pretend at being cavalry had failed pretty thoroughly. Whenever Stardust galloped (trotted) at full tilt towards the enemy (Cato, making grunting noises and pretending to have horns), she would always slow down, first to a walk, and then when she was close enough to nuzzle Cato, she stopped altogether, and no amount of kissy noises or flicking the reins would get her to budge forward and trample the nefarious Qunari threat (Cato's words).

That's not to say he didn't end up getting Cato. When he came up to Stardust's side to tell Tertius he didn't think this was going to work after all, Tertius had taken a risk and swatted Cato on his shoulder with the reed. Cato had gave a short, bitten-off scream and leapt back with such drama that Stardust took a few lazy steps away from him. Of course, Tertius panicked, worried that he'd gone too far and that this was it, this was the end. It was nice while it lasted.

Cato just inspected the welt, biting his lip, and after a long beat between the two of them, he gave a breathless laugh.

"Oh yeah, that was a nice one, you got me good!" he said cheerfully, inspecting the thin line of blood that began to bead up from where the long red stripe rose up highest. He poked at it gingerly, hissing and flinching when he pressed too hard.

Tertius hovered, hands pawed over his chest fretfully. "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to do it that hard, I didn't think it would-"

"No, no, you did good!" Cato had assured him, before they decided to turn Stardust in for the evening, since she obviously didn't much care for this game. "That just surprised me. My tamas gets me worse when I'm playing where I'm not supposed to."

He had licked his fingers and wiped away the blood, and that was that, motioning for an unsure Tertius to bring Stardust in. Tertius had gathered the reins and lead Stardust behind him, watching the blood bead up again sluggishly from the cut.

"I got assessed for my magic," Tertius confessed as they neared the gate to the Circle's grounds.

"I can cast enough that I get to be in the class with all the other casters next semester."

"Really? That's great! We'll have it together then!"

"You think?"

"There's not enough other apprentices our age to split us all up. Nobody else in my group can cast yet, and I don't think they'll put us in with older kids. I hope they don't, at least," Cato added as an afterthought, his voice lowering with his mood.

Tertius agreed, "Yeah, they probably wouldn't. I just want to do it _now_. The break takes too long. I don't even want to go home."

"You don't miss your brothers or papa?" Cato asked, sounding genuinely surprised.

Tertius snorted. "My brothers are a lot older, so they're not usually around. Palermo is in the Navy, so he's never home. Hey, you know, you might like him since he's fighting the Qunari actually. Cyprian is working with someone from the circle a little north of Minrathous. I don't really understand what he does, but he only comes home to go with papa to the Magisterium. He was certified by the Circle before I was born, so he's not much fun, not like it sounds like... 'Aun' is. 'Aun', right? Is that his name?"

"His name's Aunny. Well, his name's _really_ Aunnriel, but everyone but Tamas calls him Aunny, and I call him Aun," Cato explained.

"That sounds complicated."

"Your papa?"

"Huh? Oh... n-no, I don't really miss him. He's mostly busy anyway. Being a magister, right? I like reading and drawing and I can do that by myself."

"I guess."

"Honest? I'm glad he's not around a lot," Tertius confessed, throwing himself back to fight the fall winds that pinned the Circle's doors closed. "He's not fun, and he's honestly really scary. Maybe I should be like you and want him to be around more because he's scary, so I'll get better, but I don't think I'm brave like you."

"You think I'm brave?" Cato asked, looking at him with wonder.

"Well, yeah. You're going to go out and fight all the Qunari on Seheron. You said it was really dangerous and you could get hurt, but you're going to do it anyway."

"Yeah but that's ages from now, you said yourself!"

"And you wanted to play cavalry, which mean Stardust was supposed to come running at you-"

"But she didn't."

"But she was _supposed_ to come running at you, and you were afraid of her already."

"Concerned," Cato corrected him, nose turned up. "I was concerned of her. Er, about her."

"Fine then," Tertius finally said, annoyed at Cato's constant rejection. "You're _not_ brave. Happy?"

They reached the library just as Cato puffed his chest out in victory, and then deflated. "No?"

Tertius' laugh was cut off by a withering look from the librarian. He nodded his head in a bow, a silent apology, and ducked down his bookshelf aisle with Cato, waiting until they were certainly out of earshot before whispering again. "What about you?"

Cato shrugged. "I want to see Aun again, sure. I miss playing with him."

Tertius paused, worried that that was an indication that Cato wasn't happy just playing with him. He set the uneasy thought aside and asked, "Your tamas isn't around much either?"

"No, she is. And I do need to ask her about the knife. If she gave me the wrong one or it got enchanted wrong or something. But I'm afraid she's still mad at me for what happened."

"Wait, she's angry at you?"

"Yeah," Cato admitted, his voice cracking as his face crumpled. "I'm supposed to not, uh, not let that stuff happen. It makes my family look bad, and that can be really dangerous. Not just here but in the Senate too. If people think they can hurt me then they might threaten to do stuff to me to make Tamas vote their way or something. And just- it lets people know they can do that stuff, so they'll try it again."

"Oh," Tertius said, dimly. Tertius himself wasn't important enough in his family's hierarchy to worry about, he was pretty sure, but he wondered if this was something Cyprian had to worry about. Perhaps there were downsides to being the house heir. "Sorry. It's not like you wanted it to happen, though."

Cato just shrugged, looking a shade of miserable as they stopped in front of the bookshelf. "Doesn't matter. End's the same."

"I guess. Are you worried about them going after Aunny because of it?" Tertius asked offhand. He didn't notice Cato's reaction immediately as he focused on shifting his heavy bookbag to the ground.

When he didn't get a word either way from Cato, he looked up to check on him and realized his friend was not okay. His eyes were unblinking and looking at nothing, and his breathing was working up like how it had gone funny last time before he suddenly went to sleep.

"Cato?" Tertius asked nervously, not wanting his friend to sleep again. If he did, Tertius would have to pull him in their secret spot himself so he wasn't just lying in the middle of the library, since that sounded dangerous for an elf. That sounded like a lot of work, and they risked someone noticing and finding their spot. He poked his friend on the shoulder experimentally. "You should stop that, I think."

Cato started and looked at Tertius as if he just noticed him there. The little jump he gave in surprise made tears spill over onto his cheeks, and he hastily palmed them away. "Sorry. I was just thinking. I hadn't thought of that but now that you mention it, yeah. I have to figure out how to make sure he's going to be safe."

"Oh. Sorry," Tertius apologized, not wanting to make him worry.

"Naw, it's good that you reminded me. I can start figuring that stuff out now so by the time he's here it'll be okay," Cato assured him, looking the utmost serious and determined with his new plan. "And I think I know where I want to start."

"Yeah?"

"Uh huh. You go ahead. I have someone I gotta talk to, but I'll be back soon, promise."

Tertius squinted at him suspiciously, but nodded and watched as he sprung off like a halla. He hoped he came back soon.

\--

Calpernius looked down at Cato with narrowed eyes. "I thought I told you not to-"

"No. I don't want to play this game. This isn't funny. I need to talk to you."

At that, Calpernius reared his head in surprise before cackling. The laugh cut off abruptly, his face falling into flat irritation. When he spoke, his words were sharp, his teeth bare. "I don't think you get it. I'm not joking. I don't give a fuck about you-"

"No," Cato snapped. He stepped forward and, despite only reaching just past Calpernius' waist, matched the boy's vicious face and then some. Cato pointed his finger at Calpernius, jabbing it into his chest with the kind of authority only learned from a lineage of ruling. " _You_ don't get it. This isn't about me. My brother is gonna come to the Circle next year, and I heard that... that the thing that happened to me might happen to him, too."

"My sympathies," Calpernius sneered. His lip curled as he swatted away Cato's finger, but he did not push past Cato like he had feared.

"How do I make it not happen?" Cato demanded.

Calpernius laughed again, this time less false and more helpless. "You can't. What happened to you? Happens to every elf that comes to the Minrathous Circle. Has for years. Happened to me. Happened to every poor fucking _rat_ I've seen here. It's going to happen to you again, until you wise up and transfer to someplace less prestigious, or apply for remote classes."

"We can't do that. We got to go here."

"Then I'm so sorry for your miserable future. Best wishes that you manage not to kill yourself like the last rat that came through here," Calpernius said sarcastically.

"They killed themselves?" Cato asked. Something in him stilled, and his voice trembled- this was new. He didn't... he wasn't prepared for that. "People do that? How many... do that?"

"I don't fucking know," Calpernius grumbled, throwing his hand up. When pressed by Cato's sharp frown, he hissed. "Six- no, seven since I've been here, at least. There's been at a few dozen that's transferred since then, though."

"Seven?"

"Yeah, and it's as likely as not that I'm talking to number eight, so if you'll fuck off-"

"I need to help Aun."

Calpernius groaned, visibly grinding his teeth now in frustration. "This is why butchers don't name their beef cattle."

"Huh?"

"I don't want to know your brother's name! I don't want to know your name, I don't want to be your friend, I don't want to be your little mentor or whatever fantasy is running through your stupid little head. I can't believe I'm even entertaining you right now. You want my advice? Leave the Circle. I don't know why you haven't done that already! There are correspondence classes. I know your mother is a magister, so you could transfer to any other major Circle in the entire Imperium. Fuck, you could probably afford to hire tutors that would give you a better education if you really wanted to."

"I can't leave," Cato insisted.

"Well, then you're an idiot."

"If I'm an idiot for staying and it's so easy to transfer or do any of that other stuff, then why do _you_ stay here, huh?"

Cato hadn't expected the reaction he got. Calpernius' mouth shut instantly and his head reared as if someone had yanked back his reins. Sensing something there, something with give, Cato persisted, his words coming careful as he puzzled them out. "Why are you staying? You don't want to be here, it's not about Minrathous being the best. 'Titus' isn't a magisterial name, so it's not because important magisters always come from the Minrathous Circle. It's not because it's close to the Senate either, so it's not about distance..."

"Rot in the Void," Calpurnius swore, but Cato could tell he was hitting something.

"Is it? If you have to be here- if you have to be in Minrathous... it has to be for some reason."  
"Fuck off, this is none of your business."

Cato's voice cracked as he spoke. "I can find out, you know. I can ask my tamas to look you up and-"

"Fine! Fine, whatever you want. Ask away. Whatever the fuck you want to know, and then you leave me alone, right?" Calpernius wagered. The urgency in his voice piqued Cato's interest.

"Well, now I'm kind of curious."

"Do you want my help or not?" Calpernius asked. "I like my privacy; you have your offer. Keep your nose out of other people's fucking business and I'll help."

"I want to know everything."

"Fine."

"All your tricks. You've been here for years and-"

"I said fine! Meet me back here tomorrow, same time. I'll have everything written out for you."

"How do I know you aren't going to send them for me?"

This time, Calpernius recoiled not in fury but... offense? It was a moment before he replied, as if he had to find his words again. "I wouldn't do that," Calpernius said, face set. "Would you?"


End file.
